Damon raced outside and got into his car. He turned around the keys and drove onto the street. He then pushed the accelerator pedal and raced ahead.
He tried to keep his eyes open. He should have drunken some blood, if only just a little bit. He could almost feel his body breaking inside. But he had to stay awake long enough to get to the hospital.
Other drivers were hooting, because he drove from right to left and from left to right.
“Where did 你 get your driving license?!” someone yelled angry.
Damon felt his eyes fall down. The car drove for another few yards, while other drivers tried to avoid it.
Then the car drove off the road, turned over three times, landed on its upper side and caught fire.
He tried to keep his eyes open. He should have drunken some blood, if only just a little bit. He could almost feel his body breaking inside. But he had to stay awake long enough to get to the hospital.
Other drivers were hooting, because he drove from right to left and from left to right.
“Where did 你 get your driving license?!” someone yelled angry.
Damon felt his eyes fall down. The car drove for another few yards, while other drivers tried to avoid it.
Then the car drove off the road, turned over three times, landed on its upper side and caught fire.
Title: To Helen [Poem of Youth]
Author: Edgar Allan Poe [More Titles 由 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 由 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]
