Edgar Allan Poe
Edgar Allan Poe Poems
|41.||The Happiest Day, The Happiest Hour||12/31/2002|
|43.||The Haunted Palace||12/31/2002|
|45.||To My Mother||12/31/2002|
|46.||The Conqueror Worm||12/31/2002|
|55.||Spirits Of The Dead||12/31/2002|
|56.||The City In The Sea||12/31/2002|
|68.||A Dream Within A Dream||12/31/2002|
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,
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,
"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
Through all the flimsy things we see at once
As easily as through a Naples bonnet-
Trash of all trash!- how can a lady don it?
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff-
Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff
Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it."
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.