Our home school co-op had a day where kids could do presentations, if they liked. Klenda presented a particularly creepy rendition of this poem...
HT: Bartleby
Edgar Allan Poe. 1809–1849 |
84. 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. | |
"'T is some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door; | 5 |
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, | 10 |
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 | 15 |
"'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, | |
Some late visitor 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; | 20 |
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, | 25 |
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. | 30 |
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: | 35 |
'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, | 40 |
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, "art sure no craven, | 45 |
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; | 50 |
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 | 55 |
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." | 60 |
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 | 65 |
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, | 70 |
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 | 75 |
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight 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. | 80 |
"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! | 85 |
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." | 90 |
"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!" | 95 |
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! | 100 |
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, | 105 |
And the lamp-light 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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