Imagine Poe in the Republic! when he possesses none of its virtues; no Spartan, he. Each time he tilts the jug to greet the austere m, his sober friends relutly cur: "No man is safe who drinks before breakfast." Where is the black star of melancholy? Elsewhere; not here. Here it is always m; stern, democratic light scrubs apparitions off the streets down which his dangerous feet must go.
Perhaps. . . perhaps the black star of melancholy was hiding in the dark at the bottom of the jug all the time. . . it might be the whole thing is a little secret between the jug and himself. . .
He turns back to go and look; and the pitiless light of on day hits him full in the face like a blow from the eye of God. Struck, he reels. Where he hide, where there are no shadows? They split the Republi two, they halved the apple of knowledge, white light strikes the top half and leaves the rest in shadow; up here, up north, in the levelling latitudes, a man must make his o……（内容加载失败！）
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