I also loved Ginny, Edgar.
Though mine is an imagined love
It’s nonetheless deeper than yours.
When I recite “Annabel Lee”
Every salty-breeze line I taste
As you did when you composed them;
Each grief-stricken line I feel
As you felt those many years ago
When you wrote those dishearten lines:
“That a wind came out of a cloud
By night/chilling and killing [our]
Annabel Lee” I must give pause…
For each time I read them, I find 
My heart seemingly beside her
in that sepulcher by the sea.