Here's a poem that Edgar Allan Poe wrote:
Annabel Lee
By Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
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 wingèd 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
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
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 sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Talk about your simple English, even a child can understand every word of this poem with the possible exception of 'coveted' and 'sepulchre' and 'dissever'.
We had to memorize it back in Mr. D.P. Morris's class in Mansfield, Texas, over 60 years ago and then, one by one, stand up in front of the whole class and recite it. I personally feel it was a horrible thing to make 17-year-old boys and girls do. We could have been scarred for life. [
Editor's note. I'm not talking about having to recite it. I'm talking about having to listen to it being recited by others 30 times.
--RWP]
One thing I know. They don't make teachers of English or, for that matter, writers of poems like they used to.
Either yesterday or today is Beethoven's birthday. No one seems to know for sure. He was definitely baptized in a church (Baptists would say "sprinkled") on December 17, 1770, but he may have been born one day earlier. Whichever is correct, and I guess we'll never know, next year will be his -- wait for it -- semiquincentennial.
I had an earworm in the night, one of those times when lyrics of a song play over and over and over in your mind for hours. Last night and into the dawn it was "He's got jelly beans for Tommy, colored eggs for sister Sue; there's an orchid for your mommy, and an Easter bonnet too".
I'm a little slow getting into a Christmas mood this year. I wonder why.
(Charles Schulz, Peanuts, March 20, 1969)
(First page of music of the Pathetique Sonata in C Minor, reprint of the first edition of 1799, The Ira F. Brilliant Center for Beethoven Studies, San Jose State University, San Jose, California, USA)
*Happy birthday, Ludwig!
