Edgar Allan Poe & Me-arlene s bice (with more apologies)
It was many and many a year ago,
in an ancient village of Wales
That a man there lived whom you may know
and I knew as well as thee
And this man he lived with no other thought
Than to read and write along with me.
I was a child and he was a child,
In that ancient village town
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and this man of my dreams;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
we read and we wrote, this man and me.
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of this man and the time we spent;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of my loved one so close to me;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my eternal love, a love that never died,
In his sepulchre there in that town,
In his tomb where he lays in that town.
