ANNABEL LEE. 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, But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of many far wiser than we; And neither the angels in heaven above, 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. E. A. POE. Health. I FILL this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex And kindly stars have given A form so fair, that, like the air, 'Tis less of earth than heaven. Her every tone is music's own, Affections are as thoughts to her, A HEALTH. And lovely passions, changing oft, The image of themselves by turns, - Of her bright face one glance will trace And of her voice in echoing hearts When death is nigh, my latest sigh I fill this cup to one made up A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon. Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, E. C. PINKNEY. Serenade. LOOK out upon the stars, my love, Within my watching breast; Sleep not! - from her soft sleep should fly, Who robs all hearts of rest. Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay, With looks whose brightness well might make Of darker nights a day. E. C. PINKney. THE CITY IN THE SEA. The City in the Sea. O! Death has reared himself a throne Lo In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not) The melancholy waters lie. No rays from the holy heaven come down |