Another simple poem from Poe that weaves nature imagery and the value--and coercion--of being different. It's a good theme that resonates with me. Even if I don't understand the meaning he may have meant to input, I at least have my own conjuring.

Allow me to quote a completely different verse than everyone else here has quoted, which was the first one:

From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—

Nature. Imagery. All I need. ( )