“Bonnie?” Damon shouted. “Bonnie, where are you? Get back here!” But when nothing happened he understood he had to do this himself. He looked up at the chains and started pulling with all his strength. It hurt immensely, but he couldn’t stop. If this pain was necessary to be with Elena, he would go through it.
After a few minutes, that felt like hours, his right hand was liberated. Without hesitating he pulled his left arm and this time it took less time to free himself.
Then everything went black.
Damon opened his eyes and found himself outside on the spot where Bonnies house used to be. He looked at his arms. They had healed. He scribbled up and looked around. He felt different, like he’d been born again. Elena. He had to see Elena. And so he started walking in the direction of the Boarding House. He could sense she was there.
After a few minutes, that felt like hours, his right hand was liberated. Without hesitating he pulled his left arm and this time it took less time to free himself.
Then everything went black.
Damon opened his eyes and found himself outside on the spot where Bonnies house used to be. He looked at his arms. They had healed. He scribbled up and looked around. He felt different, like he’d been born again. Elena. He had to see Elena. And so he started walking in the direction of the Boarding House. He could sense she was there.
Title: To Helen [Poem of Youth]
Author: Edgar Allan Poe [More Titles oleh Poe]
HELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I me thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy-land !
-THE END-
Edgar Allan Poe's poem: To Helen [Poem of Youth]
Author: Edgar Allan Poe [More Titles oleh Poe]
HELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I me thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy-land !
-THE END-
Edgar Allan Poe's poem: To Helen [Poem of Youth]
