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Annabel Lee: The Tides Beyond
(A continuation, after Edgar Allan Poe)

— Original ends: —
"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."

— The continuation: —

And so, when the stars rose over the sea,
I heard her voice on the salted air—
My beautiful Annabel Lee—
A whisper that wound through my tangled hair,
A sorrow too vast to bear.

The angels had taken her, cold and keen,
But never could sever the silvered thread
That bound me still to my radiant queen,
That tethered the living unto the dead,
In a kingdom beyond the seen.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the garden where once she would wait—
Where the roses bloomed crimson in silent screams
And the fountain kept vigil by fate—
And I see her there, pale in the gaslight's gleams,
At the edge of the iron gate.

And the wind—ah, the wind!—it remembers her name,
It carries her laughter like rain,
And the ocean repeats it, a thundering claim
That rolls through each trembling pane—
Annabel, Annabel, burning flame,
That I shall not speak in vain.

I have walked by the shore where the breakers moan,
Where the kelp twists in funeral bands,
And I swear by the heavens I am not alone—
For I feel the press of her hands,
Cold as marble, yet gentle as tone
Of a harp played on desolate strands.

The seraphs above may begrudge me still,
Those demons of envious wing,
But neither their malice, nor heaven's chill will
Can silence the song that I sing—
For love is a force beyond death's darkest skill,
An imperishable, glorious thing.

And I know, when at last the black tides shall rise
And the stars burn their funeral white,
I shall follow her voice through the thundering skies,
Through the corridors measureless, bright—
And gaze once again in her luminous eyes,
My Annabel, bride of the night.

So I wait by the tomb where the sea-grasses sway,
Where the salt and the sorrow entwine,
For the hour, the moment, the glimmering day
When her kingdom shall merge into mine—
And together we'll drift on the tides far away,
Past the last of the mortal design—
In a love that no angel can slay,
In a bond that is deathless, divine—
With my darling, my darling, for whom I shall pray,
My Annabel Lee—ever mine.

The Raven's Return: A Midnight Sequel
A Continuation of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven"

Once upon a midnight weary, as I wandered, worn and teary,
Through the chamber where the Raven sat upon my chamber door—
Years had passed since that December, yet I still could well remember
Every word that spectral member spoke of Lenore, my lost Lenore—
That dark prophet still remaining, perched above my chamber door,
Whispering forever, 'Nevermore.'

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors felt so long before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating:
'It is but the wind entreating entrance through my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.'

But 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 lamplight 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!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath sent thee—by these angels he hath lent 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!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
I shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore!'
Quoth the Raven, 'Evermore.'

Startled by this strange new token—word so long ago unspoken—
'Evermore?' I gasped in wonder, trembling on the chamber floor.
'Dost thou speak of hope eternal? Light within this vault infernal?
After years of grief nocturnal, shall I see my lost Lenore?'
And the Raven stirred his pinions, spread them wide above the door,
Murmuring softly, 'Evermore.'

Then a light began to glimmer, and the darkness seemed to shimmer,
As if dawn itself were breaking through my long-sealed chamber door;
And I thought I heard her singing—bells of silver sweetly ringing—
And the scent of roses clinging to the air I breathed of yore.
Could it be my lost beloved, she whom I had grieved so sore?
Could it be... forevermore?

But the vision faded, fleeting, and I felt my frail heart beating
As the shadows crept returning, darker than they were before.
And the Raven sat there, gleaming, and I knew not: waking, dreaming?
Had he spoken? Was I screaming? Madness knocking at my door?
Only silence hung between us—silence... and the name Lenore.
Only this and nothing more.

Still the Raven keeps his station, mockery of my desolation,
And I wonder if salvation waits beyond that spectral door.
Was his promise merely seeming? Or perhaps—oh, hopeful dreaming!—
Somewhere past the lamplight gleaming, I shall find my lost Lenore.
Till that day I sit here waiting, watching, through my chamber door,
Waiting... evermore.