Already have an account? Sign in. From the creators of SparkNotes, something better. Literature Poetry Lit Terms Shakescleare. Download this LitChart! Question about this poem? Ask us. Cite This Page. Annabel Lee Full Text. Lines It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed. Everything you need for every book you read.
These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll— As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole— That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere— Our memories were treacherous and sere,— For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year Ah, night of all nights in the year!
And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn— As the star-dials hinted of morn— At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn— Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said: "She is warmer than Dian; She rolls through an ether of sighs— She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies— To the Lethean peace of the skies— Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes— Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes.
Ah, fly! I replied: "This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendour is beaming With Hope and in Beauty tonight! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright— We safely may trust to a gleaming, That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.
To My Mother Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of "Mother," Therefore by that dear name I long have called you— You who are more than mother unto me, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you In setting my Virginia's spirit free. My mother—my own mother, who died early, Was but the mother of myself; but you Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, And thus are dearer than the mother I knew By that infinity with which my wife Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.
Academy of American Poets Educator Newsletter. Teach This Poem. Follow Us. Find Poets. Poetry Near You. The speaker of the poem is remembering his long-lost love, Annabel Lee. The speaker knew Annabel Lee many years ago, when she was a girl, and they both lived "in a kingdom by the sea. So in love that even the angels in heaven noticed and were jealous. Maybe that was a bad thing, because our speaker blames the angels for killing his girlfriend. Apparently a wind came down from the clouds, which made Annabel Lee sick and then eventually killed her.
When this happened, her relatives came and took her away from the speaker, and shut her up in a tomb. Our speaker wants us to know that his love for Annabel Lee wasn't just a teenage crush.
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