Often I think of the beautiful soul,
The soul of Annabel Lee,
And the man who loved, in the years gone by,
The soul of Annabel Lee—
His beautiful bride, who sleeps by his side,
By the shores of the sounding sea.
They say he was mad, but the world was mad,
More mad and more wrong than he,
For the soul was true that loved the soul
Of the wondrous Annabel Lee,