The Owl
A/N - Hiya! Thanks a lot for the reviews for this and the Blake adaptations. You guys rock! Here is my attempt at a Labyrinth version of "The Raven". Eep! Wish me luck and forgive me if I really butcher it up.
Disclaimer - I do not own Labyrinth or The Raven. They belong to the estates of Jim Henson and Edgar Allen Poe.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over a small, quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone 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 Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Nameless here forever more.
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating there no longer,
"Sir?" said I "Or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fast 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,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the stillness quickly broken, the shadows seemed to have awoken,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and a shadow murmured back the word, "Lenore!" -
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back in the chamber swiftly 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 ; -
"'Tis the wind, and nothing more."
Upon here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately owl from 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 bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ivory bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though you, a most ungainly fowl" I said "who hath no right to stare and scowl
Ghastly, grim and ancient owl wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Owl, "Nevermore".
But the owl, 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 "Nevermore".
But the owl 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-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore".
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen cerser Swung by fairy folk whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch" I cried "Thy God hath lent thee - by this magic he hath sent thee
Respite from your past mistake, from thy memories of Lenore!
From that wish and from that failure and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Owl "Nevermore".
"Prophet!" said I "thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us - By that God we doth adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore!"
Quoth the Owl "Nevermore".
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird of fiend," I shrieked upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutoniam shore!
Leave no white 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 the form from off my door!"
Quoth the Owl "Nevermore".
And the Owl, 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 seaming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him 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!