What are we to do with Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849)? “Annabel Lee” is singsongy, like so much of Poe’s work. It’s sentimental. It’s long for its purpose. It’s twee in places. It’s got that gauzy 19th-century veil of fairyland that palls after a stanza or two. It should be unbearable — except that it isn’t. Poe pulls off work that no one else can get away with. Think of “The Raven,” “The Bells,” “Eldorado,” or even many of his famous short stories. Poe is an earworm that tunnels into our brain and won’t let go. The repeated end words, the cadences fed by internal rhymes, the speed of the three-beat feet with two-beat substitutions, the faux-childish phrasings: Each overwrought device melds with all the others to create something classic. “In her sepulchre there by the sea — / In her tomb by the sounding sea.”

Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe

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 wingèd 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 kinsmen 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 her sepulchre there by the sea —
     In her tomb by the sounding sea.

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With “Poem of the Day,” The New York Sun offers a daily portion of verse selected by Joseph Bottum with the help of the North Carolina poet Sally Thomas, the Sun’s associate poetry editor. Tied to the day, or the season, or just individual taste, the poems will be typically drawn from the lesser-known portion of the history of English verse. In the coming months we will be reaching out to contemporary poets for examples of current, primarily formalist work, to show that poetry can still serve as a delight to the ear, an instruction to the mind, and a tonic for the soul.