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 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.

Our feet are treading on earth's parapet
Over the heavens. Among the stars we stept.

Night has been drawn up trembling from his lair,
And the four winds play in our ruffled hair.

Along the black bare branch sleeps almond bloom,
Silvery in the slow silver of the moon.

You are mysterious, and you speak no word;
And who you may be I have never heard.

But though this secret I can never know,
So that you love me, I am content 'tis so,—

So that I love you, I, the wind, and you,
The slim young rose-tree against which I blew,

And rapt the earth with perfume. From the lake
The bright swift fish leapt up for your sweet sake,

And the slow buds were quickened in their pale
Green chalices. I woke the nightingale.

Dear, lift your breasts like two white roses to
The stars. The moon will have no shame of you.

In the calm splendour and the pain of night,
The wind will babble songs of its delight.

Our feet are treading on earth's parapet.