A Cirque Du Freak fanfic
Yuki Tenshi
HELLO EVERYONE, I WANTED TO SHARE MY FAVORITE. POEM TO YOU, THE RAVEN, BY EDGAR ALLAN POE.
SUMMARY: THE RAVEN WITH A TWIST, IT HAS STEVE AND DARREN MIXED IN, ENJOY!
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THE RAVEN OR CIRQUE DU FREAK, THE POEM IS POE'S, AND THE CHARATERS BELONG TO DARREN SHAN, PLEASE DON'T SUE ME
Once upon a midnight dreary, while Steve pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," he muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly he remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly he wished the morrow;- vainly he had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Darrenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Darrnore-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled him- filled him with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of his heart, he stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently his soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said Steve, "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 he opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long he 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, "Darrenore!"
This he whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Darrennore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all his soul within him burning,
Soon again he heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said Steve, "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 he 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 his chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above his 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," he 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 he marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For they cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest 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
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 Steve 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 Steve, "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 his fancy into smiling,
Straight he wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door; Then upon the velvet sinking, he betook himself 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 he sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into his bosom's core;
This and more he sat divining, with his head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
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 floor.
"Wretch," he cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Darrenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Darrenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said Steve, "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 he, "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 Darrenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Darrenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"By that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" he 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 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 his chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And Steve's soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!
A/N: I hope you like the little changes to it, I still love this poem, and Poe, Nevermore my fans, Nevermore.
R&R