Edgar Allen Poe - My Favourite Works - Annabel Lee

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 highborn kinsman 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 the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Edgar Allen Poe - My favourite Works - The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Song From A Music Box (Updated Version)

So here we are the final draft, sent in copy of my short story. I added in new details and finally gave that ending that was bugging me a good end (You have no idea how much time was spent on Wikipedia looking around for an answer.)

One turn, two, then three. When she heard the fourth click, she let go of the little key in her hand. As the music swelled from the box in her hand, her mind drifted back to when she saw the stars in the night sky and the clouds during the day. Eleanor looked to where the window was, her music box now on the window sill. With a hand delicately resting on the stained glass, it was cool to the touch from the snow she knew was drifting down slowly. -Silent and colorless. Just like me.-

As the music slowly went silent, she picked it back up in her hand. When it stopped, Eleanor rewound it again. Same notes as always, yet still so beautiful. Her mind wandered and she saw herself at the piano with her knight standing against the wall behind her with a hint of a smile on his peaceful face. It was his favorite song. And she learned it just so she could make sure that every time he came back home, he would feel relaxed again. The music stopped and she fell back into the real world. Back to where her knight has not returned. Back to where she could no longer see his face when he returned. Back to where she could no longer play the song for him, even if she could see.

The piano was gone. The room where she played for him was gone. The courtyard where she first met him while trying to escape was gone. And her dress she was going to wear when he was to become the Champion Knight was gone. All in flames the day she ran to live. She had no time to save anything but the music box that was at her side on that early autumn day, the only reminder of the song that filled the house that had stood for generations. It was a rebellion of the other nobles, who had grown jealous of her family’s growth in wealth. Hired mercenaries slaughtered every servant, every worker, and every noble, regardless of age.

Hiding along with her maidservant, her toddler son, and the lady invited to stay as a guest. As the smoke started to suffocate them, several mercenaries rushed into the room. The guest had tried to make a mad dash for the door. The crimson blossomed on the white gown like roses. While preoccupied with the lady guest, Eleanor grabbed her maidservant and ran out into the hallway. Across the room, through the charred hallway, and dashing across the shortcuts known only by her. Suddenly the maid tripped, her son tumbling across the ground as Eleanor stared back in fear. The mercenaries had followed and their sights on the fallen maidservant. The maidservant looked at her son and back up at the lady with a pleading look set in her eyes. Eleanor grabbed the child and ran on, not looking back to see what transpired for the young maid. Now running with an oddly silent toddler, she could finally see the last escape route not cut off by the flames. Turning the last corner, a burst of flames made her stumble backwards and trip over herself when fleeing the larger flames behind her. The reason she had escaped from any deadly fate or mortal injury was the knight that was at her side every waking moment. He scooped her up from the ground where the embers had found those once deep green eyes and ran with the toddler outside to the cloaking darkness. He had brought her to this church, one that served her family for years before the house was built. The toddler had gone to the orphanage, she to the head priest.

She shook her head to empty her mind of that painful day. -No use dwelling on that day a year and a half ago.- Even though she tried as hard as she could, Eleanor could still remember when she woke up in a bed, and panicking when she couldn't see any light. Her knight had been next to her and had placed her delicate hands on his face so she knew it was him. When she had asked him what happened, she knew his face had fallen.

Her eyes were not damaged in the fire. She should be able to see. Eleanor had heard the priest talking with her knight in the hallway the day after the fire. Those burns on her body will not scar though the burns on her face, however, might steal some of her youthful beauty; Including her green eyes. Eleanor felt anger inside her mind and stumbled out from her room. Her knight was there. The priest was silent. She grabbed her knight’s hand and placed her mouth on the palm of her hand. -I am not vain! Please be honest my dear sir.- Her pleas echoed still in her mind back in the present. -Do tell me. How does my face fair? I feel my hair yet, my face. It feels changed.- At that moment, her knight teared his hand away from hers. He had never shied away from her. Never turned away from her words, so silent and soft. Tears came to her eyes for the last time as she rushed back into her room and stumbled back to the bed.

The knight had left her in the same church a week later. Only a hand placed gently on her head and a faint kiss on her hair. Not a word, nor thought. No letter from him and no tears from her. Eleanor was trapped in a god-forsaken world without her best friend. He had left to go back to the battle field where he believed he belonged. A year had passed and the only word that had come from him was in the form of four words written on a piece of paper.

Again, Eleanor tried to clear her head of the past. This time she was able to stay in the present moment on a cold winters evening. She placed the music box key back on her necklace as she felt night approaching by the cooling air. She had spent the day in her chair waiting for him as she always did. What else was there to do? A bed, a table, a desk, a bookcase, and three chairs. The bookcase had only three useless books and a small statuette of the local deity. The table across the way from her held food, though she barely ate. The two other chairs stayed in their spots across the table. The last bit of space held her desk. Nothing else, nothing less. Stone walls like a prison creeping in. Not even the everlasting darkness could hold the secret back. Her only guest was the toddler she had saved, filling the room with some sound. Only once a week was she able to hear something other than cold wind, echoes from the past life, her own voice screaming inside her, and the footsteps from the hall from the monks.

Eleanor stood up to walk over to her desk and reached out for a small cloth bag. Inside was what he saved for her. Along with the letter, he had sent a remnant of what had survived from the room when the flames had swept through it. Reaching her hand in the bag she first pulled out a white chess piece from her set that was in the shape of a horse. She knew it was white as that was the only side she ever played, since she was the White Lady. And in the bag was also an ivory key from her much loved piano that she played so diligently. And the letter, carefully folded around the key, with four words written out with a piece of charcoal. Two small mementos, three with the music box, and four including her necklace.

A set of chess pieces charred to no remains. A lady with no house left to lead. An ebony piano destroyed to the point of nothing being left but ashes. A knight with only a fragmented land left to protect. A forgotten and hidden church serving no family any longer. The only followers left were a young knight, an even younger toddler, and a disabled girl.

A swift knock sounded on her door as she quickly placed her treasures back on her desk. 

“My Lady, it’s from the knight!” The priest from those days long gone rushed to her. “It’s another letter! Would you like to know what it says?” When she nodded, he continued. “‘To my White Lady.’ It comes with a gift.”

Dismayed the letter said the same thing it did last time, she reached her hand out for the gift. The priest had rushed back out the second he had pressed the letter and the gift in her hand. She opened the cloth bag and out fell a carved figure. She felt it careful before realizing it was in the shape of a phoenix, the old symbol for her house and linage. She set the carved figure on the desk. -What does it mean? He did love riddles. I hated solving them.- Eleanor had just set the bag down and heard the sound of metal hitting wood. She picked the bag up again and reached into it a second time. When she pulled her hand back out, a small gold ring was in her hand. -Wait. How can I tell it's gold?- Blinking once slowly, she saw her hand holding the ring, and the stone floor beyond it. Hearing movement next the her, but the door not being opened since the priest came, she suspected they had come with him.

Turning to face the sound, Eleanor saw a man in full armor on one knee and his head bowed. As his head lifted, a familiar smile on his face. "Good Evening, my White Lady. Did you know that there are several medicines, associated with a Phoenix, that, after being forged in gold, have healing abilities for those who wish to no longer see?”

Tears came to Eleanor’s eyes once again and streamed down her face as she held the ring in her hand and ran to her knight.

“Didn’t I promise I would come back? And I promise I will get you back your title.”

Eleanor took her knight’s hand and held it to her lips. -I do not care about my land or title. Just a place I can call home with a piano.- Lifting the hand away from her mouth, she smiled. “My sweet Sir Tristan, the music box will play again as loud and strong as before.”