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Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love —
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me —
Yes! — that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we —
Of many far wiser than we —
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night — tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
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Poe Poetry Packet
Three poems published by American poet
Edgar Allan Poe circa 1845-1849:
“Annabel Lee”.............................. Page 1
“The Bells” ................................... Page 2
“The Raven” ............................Pages 3-
I
Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II
Hear the mellow wedding bells — Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! — From the molten — golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle — dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! — how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III
Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor Now — now to sit, or never, By the side of the pale — faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash and roar!
What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — Of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — In the clamor and the clanging of the bells!
IV
Hear the tolling of the bells — Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people — ah, the people — They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone — They are neither man nor woman — They are neither brute nor human — They are Ghouls: — And their king it is who tolls: — And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells: — Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells: — To the sobbing of the bells: — Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells — To the tolling of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells, — To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
The Bells by Edgar Allan Poe
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered — Till I scarcely more than muttered „Other friends have flown before — On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.‟ Then the bird said, „Nevermore.‟
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, „Doubtless,‟ said I, „what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore — Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of “Never — nevermore.”„
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking „Nevermore.‟
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom‟s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion‟s velvet lining that the lamp — light gloated o‟er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp — light gloating o‟er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot — falls tinkled on the tufted floor. „Wretch,‟ I cried, „thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he has sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!‟ Quoth the raven, „Nevermore.‟
„Prophet!‟ said I, „thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! — Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!‟ Quoth the raven, „Nevermore.‟
„Prophet!‟ said I, „thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore — Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?‟ Quoth the raven, „Nevermore.‟
„Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!‟ I shrieked upstarting — „Get thee back into the tempest and the Night‟s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!‟ Quoth the raven, „Nevermore.‟
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon‟s that is dreaming, And the lamp — light o‟er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore!
