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  1. 2007.11.08 The Raven

The Raven

NOTICE BOARD 2007.11.08 02:19
The Raven



 

-by Edgar Allen Poe



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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.
''T is some visiter,' 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 name

                                                   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
''T is some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door –
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; –
                                                                This is it 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 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 souls 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;

                                                      'T is 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, 'are 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 upon 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 farther 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 fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust

                                                   and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself into 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 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 footfalls 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 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 name Lenore

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name

                                                   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 lamplight 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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