Annabel Lee, by Poe

"There is no greater sorrow than to recall, in misery, the time when we are happy." --Dante

"Everyone can master a grief but he that has it." --William Shakespeare

"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 a 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 high-born kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulcher,

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 far than the love

Of those that 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 sepulcher there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

-Edgar Allen Poe

Edgar Allen Poe was born in 1809. His poetry, and especially The Raven and Annabel Lee, continues to mesmerize us through their precision, impeccable rhythm and melancholy themes.

Poe’s life was plagued by alcohol, a weakness for gambling, and debt. He married in 1836, but his happiness was spoiled by Virginia’s long and ultimately fatal illness. Poe loved Virginia dearly, and was devastated by her passing. Two years after her death, a 40-year-old Poe, suffering from depression and perhaps alcoholism, was found dead on a Baltimore street. The cause of his death was uncertain.

In his poem, Annabel Lee is a metaphor for the Virginia Poe cherished so deeply.