June Poetry: Day 11 – Edgar Allan Poe

Posted: June 11, 2011 in poetry
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June Poetry: Day 11 – Edgar Allan Poe 

Many people know Edgar Allan Poe as a writer of stories and most know of the Raven, but some of Poe’s lesser known works are really fantastic.  Below I have included a couple of my favorites, enjoy.


  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 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 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 the sepulchre there by the sea,
          In her tomb by the sounding sea.


Spirits of the Dead

Thy soul shall find itself alone
      'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
      Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
      Into thine hour of secrecy.

      Be silent in that solitude,
        Which is not loneliness- for then
      The spirits of the dead, who stood
        In life before thee, are again
      In death around thee, and their will
      Shall overshadow thee; be still.

      The night, though clear, shall frown,
      And the stars shall not look down
      From their high thrones in the Heaven
      With light like hope to mortals given,
      But their red orbs, without beam,
      To thy weariness shall seem
      As a burning and a fever
      Which would cling to thee for ever.

      Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
      Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
      From thy spirit shall they pass
      No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

      The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
      And the mist upon the hill
      Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
      Is a symbol and a token.
      How it hangs upon the trees,
      A mystery of mysteries!

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