A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 20 26 But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we Of many far wiser than we Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 33 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, 1849. Edgar Allan Poe. 41 THE BLESSED DAMOZEL THE blessed Damozel lean'd out From the gold bar of Heaven: Her blue grave eyes were deeper much She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, On the neck meetly worn; And her hair, lying down her back, Herseem'd she scarce had been a day The wonder was not yet quite gone 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 12 18 6 Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves. It was the terrace of God's house That she was standing on, By God built over the sheer depth So high, that looking downward thence, It lies from Heaven across the flood Beneath, the tides of day and night But in those tracts, with her, it was And silence. For no breeze may stir Of seraphim; no echo there, 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, 24 30 36 42 4.8 And still she bow'd herself, and stoop'd Till her bosom's pressure must have made 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 54 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? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? "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 'We two will stand beside that shrine, Occult, withheld, untrod, Whose lamps tremble continually With prayer sent up to God; 60 66 72 And where each need, reveal'd, expects "We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove While every leaf that His plumes touch And I myself will teach to him,- The songs I sing here; which his mouth Shall pause in, hush'd and slow, Finding some knowledge at each pause, (Alas! to her wise simple mind 78 84 90 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 96 102 |