A/N: This makes absolutely no sense what so ever! Because I make no sense
what so ever! Have a Nice Day
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.
"'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 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 Relena-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Relena-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple
curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
"'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 my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no
longer,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"-
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 word,
"Relena!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Relena!"-
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me
burning,
"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
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or
stayed
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
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 Duo, "Forevermore."
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so
plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we 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 "Forevermore."
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, "Forevermore."
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
Of 'Forever- forevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
Meant in croaking "Forevermore."
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
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
She shall press, ah, forevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an
unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by
these angels he
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Relena!
Quoth the Raven, "Forevermore."
"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-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
"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 Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels
Clasp a rare scary and radiant annoying maiden whom the angels
devil name Relena."
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
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,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
Shall be lifted- nevermore!
-- THE END --