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 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.

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But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we

Of many
And neither the angels in heaven above,

far wiser than we

Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,

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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.

1849.

Edgar Allan Poe.

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THE BLESSED DAMOZEL

THE blessed Damozel lean'd out

From the gold bar of Heaven:

Her blue grave eyes were deeper much
Than a deep water, even.

She had three lilies in her hand,

And the stars in her hair were seven.

Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,
No wrought flowers did adorn,
But a white rose of Mary's gift

On the neck meetly worn;

And her hair, lying down her back,
Was yellow like ripe corn.

Herseem'd she scarce had been a day
One of God's choristers;

The wonder was not yet quite gone
From that still look of hers;
Albeit, to them she left, her day

Had counted as ten years.

(To one it is ten years of years:

Yet now, here in this place,

Surely she lean'd o'er me,- her hair
Fell all about my face. . . .

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Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves.
The whole year sets apace.)

It was the terrace of God's house

That she was standing on,

By God built over the sheer depth
In which Space is begun;

So high, that looking downward thence,
She scarce could see the sun.

It lies from Heaven across the flood
Of ether, as a bridge.

Beneath, the tides of day and night
With flame and blackness ridge
The void, as low as where this earth
Spins like a fretful midge.

But in those tracts, with her, it was
The peace of utter light

And silence. For no breeze may stir
Along the steady flight

Of seraphim; no echo there,
Beyond all depth or height.

Heard hardly,

some of her new friends,

Playing at holy games,

Spake, gentle-mouth'd, among themselves,

Their virginal chaste names;

And the souls, mounting up to God,
Went by her like thin flames.

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4.8

And still she bow'd herself, and stoop'd
Into the vast waste calm;

Till her bosom's pressure must have made
The bar she lean'd on warm,

And the lilies lay as if asleep

Along her bended arm.

From the fixt lull of Heaven, she saw

Time, like a pulse, shake fierce

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Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove, In that steep gulf, to pierce

The swarm: and then she spake, as when

The stars sang in their spheres.

"I wish that he were come to me,

For he will come," she said.

"Have I not pray'd in solemn Heaven?
On earth, has he not pray'd?

Are not two prayers a perfect strength?
And shall I feel afraid?

"When round his head the aureole clings,

And he is clothed in white,

I'll take his hand, and go with him

To the deep wells of light,

And we will step down as to a stream
And bathe there in God's sight.

'We two will stand beside that shrine,

Occult, withheld, untrod,

Whose lamps tremble continually

With prayer sent up to God;

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And where each need, reveal'd, expects
Its patient period.

"We two will lie i' the shadow of

That living mystic tree

Within whose secret growth the Dove
Sometimes is felt to be,

While every leaf that His plumes touch
Saith His name audibly.

And I myself will teach to him,-
I myself, lying so,—

The songs I sing here; which his mouth

Shall

pause in, hush'd and slow,

Finding some knowledge at each pause,
And some new thing to know."

(Alas! to her wise simple mind
These things were all but known
Before: they trembled on her sense,-
Her voice had caught their tone.
Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas
For life wrung out alone!

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Alas, and though the end were reach'd? . . . Was thy part understood

Or borne in trust? And for her sake

Shall this too be found good?

May the close lips that knew not prayer
Praise ever, though they would?)

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