The Raven
Edgar A. Poe
Once upon a midnight weary, while I pondered, weak and dreary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of Norwegian porn -
While I fumbled with the zipper, suddenly a sound came hither,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I shrilled (I'd nearly slammed it in the drawer) -
Only this and nothing more".
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
For I had to break the ice within the lavatory bowl.
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 - kinky - with fantastic terrors I had 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 -
That same fool who almost made me catch it in the oaken drawer;
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or hopefully Madam, your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was...er...napping, and when gently you came rapping,
When so faintly you came tapping, I almost caught it in the drawer,
And 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,
Thinking that some swine had played a prank outside my chamber door.
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, quoth the echo "spare some change guv, for the poor?"
"No!" I cried, and shut the door.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that damn tramp is at my window lattice;
Let me seen then, what thereat is, and this mystery expose;
If it's that tramp again I swear it, when I this mystery expose,
I'll thrust my poker up his nose."
Open here I flung the shutter, crying, "come on then, you bugger"
But in there stepped a saintly 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 maiden's bust there just above my chamber door -
Perched, and crapped upon the floor.
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,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
He quoth, "'Tis Paddy, to be sure!"
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear the Irish 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,
With such name as Paddy, to be sure.
But the Raven, siting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
Just one word, as if his 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 -
Though 'tis true that none of them hath crapped upon my chamber floor."
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
Perhaps he caught it in the drawer."
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 (while keeping it away from drawer) -
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 hand at ease reclining
On my bathrobe's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining - kinky - 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 incontinent Seraphim who 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 budweiser 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 -
Why do I covet fabric softener? Tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "You're a perv."
"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 that rare and radiant fabric softener of angel's verse -
Or find some kind of discrete clinic for people who are so perverse."
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!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and free my manhood from the drawer!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
So I grabbed him, and with earnest, took him to a taxidermist
And set him on the maiden's titties just above my chamber door.
But there is sadness to this tale reflected, for in my hurry I neglected
To extract my aching manhood from my bureau's tight-shut drawer,
And my manhood once extracted from that bureau's tight-shut drawer
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Edgar A. Poe
Once upon a midnight weary, while I pondered, weak and dreary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of Norwegian porn -
While I fumbled with the zipper, suddenly a sound came hither,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I shrilled (I'd nearly slammed it in the drawer) -
Only this and nothing more".
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
For I had to break the ice within the lavatory bowl.
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 - kinky - with fantastic terrors I had 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 -
That same fool who almost made me catch it in the oaken drawer;
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or hopefully Madam, your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was...er...napping, and when gently you came rapping,
When so faintly you came tapping, I almost caught it in the drawer,
And 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,
Thinking that some swine had played a prank outside my chamber door.
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, quoth the echo "spare some change guv, for the poor?"
"No!" I cried, and shut the door.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that damn tramp is at my window lattice;
Let me seen then, what thereat is, and this mystery expose;
If it's that tramp again I swear it, when I this mystery expose,
I'll thrust my poker up his nose."
Open here I flung the shutter, crying, "come on then, you bugger"
But in there stepped a saintly 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 maiden's bust there just above my chamber door -
Perched, and crapped upon the floor.
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,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
He quoth, "'Tis Paddy, to be sure!"
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear the Irish 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,
With such name as Paddy, to be sure.
But the Raven, siting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
Just one word, as if his 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 -
Though 'tis true that none of them hath crapped upon my chamber floor."
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
Perhaps he caught it in the drawer."
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 (while keeping it away from drawer) -
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 hand at ease reclining
On my bathrobe's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining - kinky - 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 incontinent Seraphim who 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 budweiser 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 -
Why do I covet fabric softener? Tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "You're a perv."
"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 that rare and radiant fabric softener of angel's verse -
Or find some kind of discrete clinic for people who are so perverse."
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!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and free my manhood from the drawer!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
So I grabbed him, and with earnest, took him to a taxidermist
And set him on the maiden's titties just above my chamber door.
But there is sadness to this tale reflected, for in my hurry I neglected
To extract my aching manhood from my bureau's tight-shut drawer,
And my manhood once extracted from that bureau's tight-shut drawer
Shall be lifted - nevermore!