38 Solitary Genius

for witness, in the play of the druids, in our all the circles of moon fantasy, in the forests of moon mist-blower. In the fog of the subconscious, they're hang great, and entwining branches that point strange fingers toward you, and seem to whisper in the midnight breeze, our dalar of my work. You will hear the story of such in a moment when Theodore Osborne

creates the role of Edgar Allan Poe in the story of the solitary genius. A man surfated in between heaven and hell, and he who shall there reside will neither be understood nor yet have mundane understanding he will never be forgiven nor will he eat suck forgiving. He shall always stand solitary and alone to be

scorned yet have no wit for scawning the precarious estate of the tragic Edgar Alan Poe. Within the world and convolutions of his brain, there sprang dazzling flashes of the pure white light of fantasy, and the times in contrast, there formed eddies and whirlpools and turgid thoughts on Collia. He was a man within himself, a man neither understood nor understanding. That is, with but one exception,

there was but one beautiful and ethereal light of his existence, the light he immortalized for ever an eternal in the sweet and pathetic lyrics of Annabel Lee. That was a semester later he gave to her, Virginia Clem.

I'm doing what you were. If you're a wanderman can inspire such music, and I beg of you to continue your wonderments, my dear. Oh, please. Oh, no, no, please. Don't stop playing. And, Melody, if you're still in this room of our little house until it becomes the marble halls of iron.