Loss on Poem of the Day

Annabel Lee

Sun, 22 Feb 2026 00:00:00 +0000

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 kinsmen 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 her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Because I could not stop for Death

Sun, 22 Feb 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Because I could not stop for Death - He kindly stopped for me - The Carriage held but just Ourselves - And Immortality.

We slowly drove - He knew no haste And I had put away My labor - and my leisure too - For His Civility -

We passed the School - where Children strove At Recess - in the Ring - We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain - We passed the Setting Sun -

Or rather - He passed Us - The Dews drew quivering and Chill - For only Gossamer - my Gown - My Tule - my Tulle -

We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground - The Roof was scarcely visible - The Cornice - in the Ground -

Since then - ’tis Centuries - and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses’ Heads Were toward Eternity -

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night

Sun, 22 Feb 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

O Captain! My Captain!

Sun, 22 Feb 2026 00:00:00 +0000

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: —But O heart! heart! heart! —O the bleeding drops of red! Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning: —Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; —Exult O shores, and ring O bells! —But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

The Raven

Sun, 22 Feb 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Once upon a midnight dreary, as I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, napping suddenly, there came a tapping gently, rapping, “A visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each dying, glowing ember cast its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the radiant girl whom the angels named Lenore— Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of the purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, “Sir or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently came your rapping, And so faint the tapping, tapping, tapping at my chamber door— That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;— Darkness there and nothing more.

Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines

Sun, 22 Feb 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

The night is shattered and the blue stars shiver in the distance. The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is shattered and the blue stars shiver in the distance.

This is all. In the distance the night sings its useless song to the hills. I want to turn toward my soul’s half-empty fields and rake together the scraps of my life.

All of this is cold, and nothing matters, without love. Tonight I can write the saddest lines of the night.