greatly surprised her if Annabel had come gliding back in the night
watches to put the finishing touches to those scrolls of wild flowers
which ornamented the panels of the doors, and to the design of the
briar-rose which ran round the frieze of the room. Annabel might come
in, and pursue this work in stealthy spirit fashion, and then glide up
to her, and ask her to get out of this little white bed, and let the
strange visitor, to whom it had once belonged, rest in it herself once
more.

Annabel Lee! It was a queer name-- a wild, bewitching sort of a name--
the name of a girl in a song.

Priscilla knew many of Poe's strange songs, and she found herself now
murmuring some words which used to fascinate her long ago:

"And 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."

Some ashes fell from the expiring fire; Priscilla jumped up in bed