Posted By: kavos ( ... a dneska se loguju z) on 'Poetry'
Title:     Edgar Allan Poe : The Raven
Date:      Wed May  8 11:54:26 1996

                     The Raven
                  Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreadry, 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
 As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber
 "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber
        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 surrow, sorrow for the lost
  For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name
        Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
  Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood
  "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber
  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
   And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my cham-
     ber door,
   That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened
     wide the door;---
           Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into  the darkness peering, long I stood there, won-
     dering, fearing
   Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to
     dream before;
But  the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
   This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
           Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into  the chamber turning, all my soul within me
   Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window
   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
   In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of
Not  the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or
     stayed he;
   But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my cham-
     ber door.
   Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber
           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
"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 the lordly name is on the Night's Pluton-
      ian shore."
           Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so
   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 cham-
      ber door,
   Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his cham-
      ber door,
            With such name as "Nevermore."

But   the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
   That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he
   Till I scarcely more than muttered,"Other friends have
      flown before;
   On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown
            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
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful
   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
   What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous
     bird of yore
            Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."

Thus 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 re-
   On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated
   But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating
              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
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these
     angels he hath sent thee
   Respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of
   Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost
            Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or
   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 im-
              Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or
   By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we
     both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant
   It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name
   Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name
            Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked,
   "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Pluton-
     ian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath
  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
  And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws the 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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