Tuesday, June 12, 2012


                                 Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
                                 Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lure-
                                 While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
                                 As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door-
                                 "Tis some visitor, "I muttered, " tapping at my chamber door-
                                                                                             Only this and nothing more"

                                  Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the black December;
                                  And  each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon a floor.
                                  Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow 
                                  From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow  for the lost Lenore
                                  For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
                                                                                               Nameless here for everyone.

                                  And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
                                  Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
                                  So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
                                  "Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door-
                                  Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door-
                                                                                                This it is and nothing more.

                                 Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
                                 "Sir," said I, or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
                                 But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
                                 And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chambered door-
                                 That I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide the door;-
                                                                                                 Darkness there and nothing more.

                                 Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
                                 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
                                 But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
                                 And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, Lenore?"
                                 This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, Lenore!"
                                                                                                  Merely this and nothing more.

                                  Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning.
                                  Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
                                  "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
                                  Let me see, then, what threat is, and this mystery explore-
                                  Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
                                                                                                   "Tis the wind and nothing more!"

                                  Open here I flung the shutter, when with many a flirt and flutter;
                                  In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
                                  Not the last obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
                                  But, with mein of lord or lady, perched above chamber door-
                                  Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my cahmber door-
                                                                                                    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

                                  Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
                                  By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
                                  "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou, "I said, "art sure no craven,
                                  Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nighty shore-
                                  Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
                                                                                                     Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

                                   Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly
                                   Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore;
                                   Roe we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
                                   Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
                                   Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above hid chamber door,
                                                                                                    With such name as "Nevermore."

                                   But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
                                   That one word, as if his soul in that one word he outpour.
                                   Nothing father then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
                                   Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before."
                                   On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
                                                                                                     Then the bird said "Nevermore."

                                   Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
                                   "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
                                   Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
                                   Followed  fast and  followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
                                   Till the the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
                                                                                                    Of  "Never-nevermore."

                                   But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
                                   Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
                                   Then, upon a velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
                                   Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore
                                                                                                   Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

                                    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
                                    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
                                    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
                                    On the cushion's velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloated o'er,
                                    But whose velvet violet lining with lamp-light gloating o'er.
                                                                                                  She shall press, ah, nevermore!

                                    Then methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
                                    Swung by seraphim whose foot-balls tinkled on the tufted floor.
                                    "Wretch," I cried, thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
                                    Respite-respite and nepenthe from my memories of Lenore;
                                    Quaff, oh quaff this kind of nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
                                                                                                  Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

                                    "Prophet!" said I, thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!-
                                    Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
                                    Desolate yet all undaunted, on his desert land enchanted-
                                    On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
                                    Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me -tell me , I implore!"
                                                                                               Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

                                    "Prophet!" said I, thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!-
                                    By that Heaven that bends above us-by that God we both adore-
                                    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, if within the distant Aidenn,
                                    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
                                    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
                                                                                                Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
                                    "Be the word our sign of parting, bird or friend!" I shrieked, upstarting-
                                    Get thee back into the tempest  and Night's Plutonian shore!
                                    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
                                    Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door !
                                    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy my form from of my door!"
                                                                                               Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

                                  And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
                                  On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
                                  And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
                                  And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
                                  And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
                                                                                                Shall be lifted- nevermore!





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