PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

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 name Lenore-



Nameless here forever more.



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 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 hear 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 mortals 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 murmered back the word, "Lenore!"-



Merely this, and nothing more.



Back into the chamber turning all my sould within me burning

Soon again i heard a tapping somewhat louder then before.

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lettice:

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mustery explore-

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-



"tis the wind and nothing more."



Open here I flund the shutter, when, with many a flit and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;

No the least obeisanse made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched about 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,

But the grave and stern decorum of the countenace 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-

Tel me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"



Qouth 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 blest 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 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,

Caugt 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 to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominouse bird of yore



Meant in croaking "Nevermore."



This I sat engaged in guessing but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burn 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 lamplight gloated o'er

But whose velvet lining with the lamplight 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!

By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, withen 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 in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Nights Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a toke  of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust aboce 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 sould from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor



Shall be lifted- nevermore!



~Edger Allen Poe~