And this was the reason that long ago, My love fell out of a tree, And busted herself on a cruel rock; A solemn sight to see, For it spoiled the hat and gown and looks Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. We loved with a love that was lovely love, I and my Annabel Lee, And we went one day to gather the nuts That men call hickoree―― And I stayed below in the rosy glow While she shinned up the tree. But no sooner up than down kerslup Came the beautiful Annabel Lee. And the pallid moon and the hectic noon Bring gleams of dreams for me, Of the desolate and the desperate fate Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And I often think as I sink on the brink Of slumber’s sea, of the warm pink link That bound my soul to Annabel Lee; And it wasn’t just best for her interest To climb that hickory tree. For had she stayed below with me, We’d had no hickory nuts, may be, But I would have had my Annabel Lee. _Mr. and Mrs. Spoopendyke._ By Stanley Huntley, of the “_Brooklyn Eagle_.” [Illustration] ULALUME. I. The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crispèd and sere,―― The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir,―― It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. II. Here once, through an alley Titanic Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul,―― Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll,―― As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole,―― That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. III. Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere,―― Our memories were treacherous and sere; For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year! (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber (Though once we had journeyed down here), Remembered not the dark tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. * * * * * VIII. Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom―― And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb―― By the door of a legended tomb, And I said, “What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?” She replied, “Ulalume――Ulalume―― ’Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!”