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.

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.

Supernatural on Poem of the Day

Annabel Lee

The Raven