The melancholy days come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear
- The Death of the Flowers, William Cullen Bryant
ANNABEL LEE
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 is 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 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 is 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 niether 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.
-Edgar Allan Poe
THE HAUNTED PALACE
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace-reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion-
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This-all this-was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plummed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace-door,
Through which came flowing, flowing , flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes,whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!-for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home, the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody
While, like a ghostly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh-but smile no more.
-Edgar Allan Poe
