EBB AND FLOW. I WALKED beside the evening sea, But still the legions charged the beach, I homeward turned from out the gloom, It was my heart, that like a sea It said 'dream on,' and 'dream no more.' Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; Ask me no more: what answer could I give? Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed: Ask me no more. ALFRED TENNYSON. ANNABEL LEE. Ir was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea; That a maiden 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, In this kingdom by the sea, 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, But our love it was stronger by far than the love 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 tomb by the sounding sea. EDGAR A. POE. BERTHA. THE leaves have fallen from the trees; For under them grew the buds of May, And such is Nature's constant way; Let us accept the work of her hand. Bertha looked down from the rocky cliff, Whose feet the tender foam-wreaths kist, Toward the outer circle of mist That hedged the old and wonderful sea. Below her, as if with endless hope, Up the beach's marbled slope, The waters clomb eternally. Many a long-bleached sail in sight Hovered awhile, then flitted away, Beyond the opening of the bay; Fair Bertha entered her cottage late, 'He does not come,' she said, and smiled, 'But the shore is dark and the sea is wild, And, dearest father, we still must wait.' |