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 which was more than love —

      I and my Annabel Lee;

      With a love that the wingèd 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.

      There are some qualities – some incorporate things,

      That have a double life, which thus is made

      A type of that twin entity which springs

      From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.

      There is a two-fold Silence– sea and shore —

      Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,

      Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,

      Some human memories and tearful lore,

      Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."

      He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!

      No power hath he of evil in himself;

      But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)

      Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,

      That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod

      No foot of man), commend thyself to God!

      Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

      Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

      While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

      As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

      "'Tis some 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 separate dying ember wrought 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 rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —

      Nameless here for evermore.

      And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each 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,

      "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —

      Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —

      This it is, and nothing more."

      Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

      "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

      But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

      And so faintly you came 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.

      Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

      Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;

      But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

      And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"

      This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —

      Merely this, and nothing more.

      Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

      Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

      "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:

      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —

      Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —

      'Tis the wind and nothing more."

      Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

      In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;

      Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

      But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —

      Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —

      Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

      Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

      By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

      "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

      Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —

      Tell