Boston and all, there are moments when one can yet thrill.
But other times I look up and perchance her eyes will meet mine with a look that is cold and penetrating and contemptuous and confounding.
Other times I look up and see her eyes full of indifference, full of tranquillity, full of dull deadly quiet.
Came Annabel Lee from out of Boylston street in Boston. And lo, she was so adorable, so fascinating, so lovable, that straightway I adored her; I was fascinated by her; I loved her.
I love her tenderly. For why, I know not. How can there be accounting for the places one's loves will rest?
Sometimes my friend Annabel Lee is negative and sometimes she is positive.
Sometimes when my mind seems to have wandered infinitely far from her I realize suddenly that 'tis she who holds it
