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"The Raven"

11BravoCrunchie
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
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 bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the 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 named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

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 visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor 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 chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that 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 darkness 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 thereat 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 least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber 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 nightly 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;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his 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 did outpour.
Nothing further 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 dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and 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 lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the 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-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind 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 this 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, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the 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 form from off 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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Comments

11 comments

Date Votes
  • needmyguns
    WOW NICE [:)][:)]
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  • Mk 19
    one of my fav's
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  • Colt Super
    Poe was my Daughter Deanna's favorite author, when she was a younker.

    Doug
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  • He Dog
    My favorite Poe poem, The Bells:

    Hear the sledges with the bells-
    Silver bells!
    What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
    How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
    In the icy air of night!
    While the stars that oversprinkle
    All the heavens, seem to twinkle
    With a crystalline delight;
    Keeping time, time, time,
    In a sort of Runic rhyme,
    To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
    From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
    Bells, bells, bells-
    From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

    Hear the mellow wedding bells,
    Golden bells!
    What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
    Through the balmy air of night
    How they ring out their delight!
    From the molten-golden notes,
    And an in tune,
    What a liquid ditty floats
    To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
    On the moon!
    Oh, from out the sounding cells,
    What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
    How it swells!
    How it dwells
    On the Future! how it tells
    Of the rapture that impels
    To the swinging and the ringing
    Of the bells, bells, bells,
    Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
    Bells, bells, bells-
    To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

    Hear the loud alarum bells-
    Brazen bells!
    What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
    In the startled ear of night
    How they scream out their affright!
    Too much horrified to speak,
    They can only shriek, shriek,
    Out of tune,
    In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
    In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
    Leaping higher, higher, higher,
    With a desperate desire,
    And a resolute endeavor,
    Now-now to sit or never,
    By the side of the pale-faced moon.
    Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
    What a tale their terror tells
    Of Despair!
    How they clang, and clash, and roar!
    What a horror they outpour
    On the bosom of the palpitating air!
    Yet the ear it fully knows,
    By the twanging,
    And the clanging,
    How the danger ebbs and flows:
    Yet the ear distinctly tells,
    In the jangling,
    And the wrangling,
    How the danger sinks and swells,
    By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
    Of the bells-
    Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
    Bells, bells, bells-
    In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

    Hear the tolling of the bells-
    Iron Bells!
    What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
    In the silence of the night,
    How we shiver with affright
    At the melancholy menace of their tone!
    For every sound that floats
    From the rust within their throats
    Is a groan.
    And the people-ah, the people-
    They that dwell up in the steeple,
    All Alone
    And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
    In that muffled monotone,
    Feel a glory in so rolling
    On the human heart a stone-
    They are neither man nor woman-
    They are neither brute nor human-
    They are Ghouls:
    And their king it is who tolls;
    And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
    Rolls
    A paean from the bells!
    And his merry bosom swells
    With the paean of the bells!
    And he dances, and he yells;
    Keeping time, time, time,
    In a sort of Runic rhyme,
    To the paean of the bells-
    Of the bells:
    Keeping time, time, time,
    In a sort of Runic rhyme,
    To the throbbing of the bells-
    Of the bells, bells, bells-
    To the sobbing of the bells;
    Keeping time, time, time,
    As he knells, knells, knells,
    In a happy Runic rhyme,
    To the rolling of the bells-
    Of the bells, bells, bells:
    To the tolling of the bells,
    Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
    Bells, bells
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  • Cubslover
    I thought this would feature some Alan Parsons lyrics.[V]
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  • fishermanben
    The Raven is what happens when a depressed, drunken, paranoid, opiate laden man does too much cocaine, and cannot sleep. You can almost feel his intoxication when you read the poem.

    "I stand amid the roar of a surf tormented shore. I hold within my hand grains of golden sand. How few, yet how they creep through my fingers to the deep. while I weep. while I weep. O Lord can I not grasp them with a tighter clasp? O Lord can I not save one from pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?"

    Ben
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  • Rack Ops
    Oh, I thought this was a discussion about low-priced .25 automatics
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  • mongrel1776
    Always liked Poe. But I like this better --

    "Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
    Knocking on the moonlit door;
    And his horse in the silence chomped the grasses
    Of the forest's ferny floor.
    And a bird flew up out of the turret,
    Above the Traveller's head:
    And he smote upon the door a second time;
    "Is there anybody there?" he said.
    But no one descended to the Traveller;
    No head from the leaf-fringed sill
    Leaned over and looked into his gray eyes,
    Where he stood perplexed and still.
    But only a host of phantom listeners
    That dwelt in the lone house then
    Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
    To that voice from the world of men.
    Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair
    That goes down to the lonely hall,
    Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
    By the lonely Traveller's call.
    And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
    Their stillness answering his cry,
    While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
    'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
    For he suddenly smote the door, even
    Louder, and lifted his head;
    "Tell them I came, and no one answered,
    That I kept my word," he said.
    Never the least stir made the listeners,
    Though every word he spake
    Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
    From the one man left awake:
    Aye, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
    And the sound of iron on stone,
    And how the silence surged softly backward,
    When the plunging hooves were gone.

    "The Listeners" -- Walter de la Mare

    Briefer (and you might say saner) than Poe's best, but still great.
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  • tobefree
    Well after all the first word in poet is Poe!!!!
    Even the Duke liked him!

    Gaily bedight,
    A gallant knight,
    In sunshine and in shadow,
    Had journeyed long,
    Singing a song,
    In search of Eldorado.

    But he grew old
    This knight so bold
    And o'er his heart a shadow
    Fell as he found
    No spot of ground
    That looked like Eldorado.

    And, as his strength
    Failed him at length,
    He met a pilgrim shadow
    "Shadow," said he,
    "Where can it be
    This land of Eldorado?"

    "Over the Mountains
    Of the Moon,
    Down the Valley of the Shadow,
    Ride, boldly ride,"
    The shade replied
    "If you seek for Eldorado!"
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  • Queen of Swords
    One of my favorites since 7th grade.,

    It was many and many a year ago,
    In a kingdom by the sea,
    That a maiden there lived whom you may know
    By the name of Annabel Lee;
    And this maiden she lived with no other thought
    Than to love and be loved by me.

    I was a child and she was a child,
    In this kingdom by the sea;
    But we loved with a love that was more than love -
    I and my Annabel Lee;
    With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
    Coveted her and me.
    And this was the reason that, long ago,
    In this kingdom by the sea,
    A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
    My beautiful Annabel Lee;
    So that her highborn kinsman came
    And bore her away from me,
    To shut her up in a sepulcher
    In this kingdom by the sea.
    The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
    Went envying her and me
    Yes! that was the reason
    (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
    That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
    Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

    But our love was stronger by far than the love
    Of those who were older than we
    Of many far wiser than we
    And neither the angels in heaven above,
    Nor the demons down under the sea,
    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
    For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
    Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
    In the sepulcher there by the sea,
    In her tomb by the sounding sea.
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  • Queen of Swords
    Necrophilia never sounded so beautiful....[:D][;)]
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