POE AND LONGFELLOW
Reading edition
ON THEIR LOST LOVES.
Though the love of man for woman has been one of the most fruitful sources of inspiration to the poets, verses in which famous authors have sung the praises of women who have become their wives are comparatively rare. The belief is common that the natures of poets are more sensitive than those of other persons. If this is true, it is only reasonable to infer that a poet possesses the power of giving more forceful expression to his sense of bereavement than any other person would be capable of doing.
In the case of Poe, the poem "Annabel Lee," written shortly after the death of his beautiful young wife, is said to have been inspired by the writer's loss. Mrs. Poe, Virginia Clemm, a first cousin of the poet, became his wife before she was fifteen years old. Her wedded life was one of sorrow and hardship, and eleven years later she died of consumption.
The wife of Longfellow died in 1861. Shortly afterward the poem "Via Solitaria" was written. It was not intended for publication, and during Longfellow's lifetime it was not included in any collection of his poems, for the reason that its author regarded it as being too distinctively personal for the public eye.
ANNABEL LEE.
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE.
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 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 My beautiful Annabel Lee, So that her high-born kinsman came And bore her away from me To shut her up in a sepulcher 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 nighttide I lie down by the side Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride, In her sepulcher there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.
VIA SOLITARIA.
BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
Alone, I walked the peopled city, Where each seems happy with his own; Oh! friends, I ask not for your pity— I walk alone. No more for me yon lake rejoices, Though moved by loving airs of June. Oh! birds, your sweet and piping voices Are out of tune. In vain for me the elm tree arches Its plumes in many a feathery spray, In vain the evening's starry marches And sunlit day. In vain your beauty, Summer flowers; Ye cannot greet these cordial eyes; They gaze on other fields than ours— On other skies. The gold is rifled from the coffer, The blade is stolen from the sheath; Life has but one more boon to offer, And that is—Death. Yet well I know the voice of Duty, And, therefore, life and health must crave, Though she who gave the world its beauty Is in her grave. I live, O lost one! for the living Who drew their earliest life from thee, And wait, until with glad thanksgiving I shall be free. For life to me is as a station Wherein apart a traveler stands— One absent long from home and nation, In other lands; And I, as he who stands and listens, Amid the twilight's chill and gloom, To hear, approaching in the distance, The train for home. For death shall bring another mating, Beyond the shadows of the tomb, On yonder shore a bride is waiting Until I come. In yonder field are children playing, And there—oh, vision of delight!— I see the child and mother straying In robes of white. Thou, then, the longing heart that breakest, Stealing the treasures one by one, I'll call Thee blessed when Thou makest The parted—one.