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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 19:24:49 AEST | ||
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(
[sid] => 103123
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => ..a REAL masterpiece..
[time] => 2005-08-09 22:39:01
[hometext] => I hope the younger poets on site can take something from this, and to all who are familiar with him and this work in particular, just a little remider of why we're all here.. My foremost influence and idol.. Edgar Allen Poe..
[bodytext] => The Raven by: Edgar Allen Poe 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 someone 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 seperate dying ember Wrought It's 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 radient 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 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 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, "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 or yore. Not the least obseisance 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 chest be shorn or 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 It's answer little meaning Little relevancy bore; 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 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 It's 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 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 expessing To the fowl whose firey eyes Now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, With my head at ease reclining On the cushioned velvet lining That the lamp light gloated o're, But whose velvet, violet lining With the lamp-light gloating o're She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, Perfumed by 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!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! Prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent, or whether Tempter 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 the Heaven that bends above us, By the God we both adore, Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, Within the distan Aidenn, It shall clasp a saintly maiden Whom the angels name Lenore: Clasp a rare and radient maiden Whom the angels name Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." "Be that word our sign of parting, Bird or fiend!" I shreiked upstarting: "Get thee back into thee temptest 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!" 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 who is dreaming, And the lamp-light o're him streaming Throws his shadow on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore! Edgar Allen Poe [comments] => 8 [counter] => 225 [topic] => 69 [informant] => Man_On_High [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => poets )
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