Written in 1845 the Raven remains one of the most famous poems ever written. It was my mother’s favorite poem.\u00a0As I sat thinking about her on this sunny afternoon in February (she has been gone from us for going on ten years)\u00a0I was reminded, by some strange force I suppose,\u00a0of The Raven.<\/p>\n
There’s not a day that goes by that you don’t touch me in some small way. I know you’ll always be with me mom. It’s been hard these past few months with dad passing in November. I think about him every day too. If somehow you can read this I am glad that dad is with you again wherever you are. He missed you so terribly.<\/p>\n
Love and miss\u00a0you both… your son Les<\/p>\n
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,<\/em> Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,<\/em> And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain<\/em> Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,<\/em> Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,<\/em> Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,<\/em> Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,<\/em> Then this ebony bird beguiling<\/a> my sad fancy into smiling,<\/em> Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,<\/em> But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid<\/a> bust, spoke only<\/em> Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,<\/em> But the Raven still beguiling<\/a> all my fancy into smiling,<\/em> This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing<\/em> Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer<\/a><\/em> “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! –<\/em> “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!<\/em> “Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting-<\/em> And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting<\/em>
\n Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,<\/em>
\n While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,<\/em>
\n As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.<\/em>
\n “‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door-<\/em>
\n Only this, and nothing more.”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.<\/em>
\n Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow<\/em>
\n From my books surcease<\/a> of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-<\/em>
\n For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-<\/em>
\n Nameless here for evermore.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;<\/em>
\n So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,<\/em>
\n “‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-<\/em>
\n Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-<\/em>
\n This it is, and nothing more.”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;<\/em>
\n But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,<\/em>
\n And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,<\/em>
\n That I scarce was sure I heard you”- here I opened wide the door;-<\/em>
\n Darkness there, and nothing more.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;<\/em>
\n But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,<\/em>
\n And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”<\/em>
\n This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”-<\/em>
\n Merely this, and nothing more.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.<\/em>
\n “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice:<\/em>
\n Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-<\/em>
\n Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-<\/em>
\n ‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;<\/em>
\n Not the least obeisance<\/a> made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;<\/em>
\n But, with mien<\/a> of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-<\/em>
\n Perched upon a bust of Pallas<\/a> just above my chamber door-<\/em>
\n Perched, and sat, and nothing more.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n By the grave and stern decorum<\/a> of the countenance it wore.<\/em>
\n “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,<\/em>
\n Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-<\/em>
\n Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian<\/a> shore!”<\/em>
\n Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;<\/em>
\n For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being<\/em>
\n Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-<\/em>
\n Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,<\/em>
\n With such name as “Nevermore.”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.<\/em>
\n Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-<\/em>
\n Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before-<\/em>
\n On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”<\/em>
\n Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,<\/em>
\n Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster<\/em>
\n Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-<\/em>
\n Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore<\/em>
\n Of ‘Never- nevermore’.”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;<\/em>
\n Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking<\/em>
\n Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-<\/em>
\n What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore<\/em>
\n Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;<\/em>
\n This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining<\/em>
\n On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,<\/em>
\n But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,<\/em>
\n She shall press, ah, nevermore!<\/em><\/p>\n
\n Swung by Seraphim<\/a> whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.<\/em>
\n “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee<\/em>
\n Respite- respite and nepenthe<\/a>, from thy memories of Lenore!<\/em>
\n Quaff<\/a>, oh quaff<\/a> this kind nepenthe<\/a> and forget this lost Lenore!”<\/em>
\n Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,<\/em>
\n Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-<\/em>
\n On this home by Horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-<\/em>
\n Is there- is there balm in Gilead<\/a>?- tell me- tell me, I implore!”<\/em>
\n Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-<\/em>
\n Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn<\/a>,<\/em>
\n It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-<\/em>
\n Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”<\/em>
\n Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian<\/a> shore!<\/em>
\n Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!<\/em>
\n Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!<\/em>
\n Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”<\/em>
\n Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”<\/em><\/p>\n
\n On the pallid<\/a> bust of Pallas<\/a> just above my chamber door;<\/em>
\n And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,<\/em>
\n And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;<\/em>
\n And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor<\/em>
\n Shall be lifted- nevermore!<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"