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...
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! Let the bell toll! a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear? weep now or nevermore!...
In spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less, So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,...
In youth's spring, it was my lot To haunt of the wide earth a spot The which I could not love the less; So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake, with black rock bound....
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning, Of all to whom thine absence is the night, The blotting utterly from out high heaven The sacred sun, of all who, weeping, bless thee...
Not long ago, the writer of these lines, In the mad pride of intellectuality, Maintained "the power of words"--denied that ever A thought arose within the human brain...
In spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less, So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,...