Haunted Hollow Raven

THE RAVEN

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 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 "'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 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 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 murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my sour within me burning, Soon
again I heard a tapping something 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 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 the 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 upon the sculptured bust
above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one
word, as if its 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 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 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 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 has 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 shadows on the floor; And my soul from out that
shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!

Edgar Allan Poe

Looking for something?

Library
Haunted Hollow | Haunted House | Cemetary | Maze
Photo Album