Annabel Lee (Português)Annabel Lee (Português)
The skies they were ashen and sober;The leaves they were crisped and sere—The leaves they were withering and sere;It was night in the lonesome OctoberOf my most immemorial year:It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,In the misty mid region of Weir—It was down by the dank tarn of