Summary: An old poem about a crow. / The coolest poem ever/yet written in the English language.<br> ⁓The Voice before the Void<br> “The Raven”<br> Edgar Allan Poe<br> Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,<br> Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,<br> While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,<br> As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.<br> “‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door<br> Only this, and nothing more.”<br> Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,<br> And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.<br> Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow<br> From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore<br> For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore<br> Nameless here for evermore.<br> And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain<br> Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;<br> So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,<br> “‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door<br> Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;<br> This it is, and nothing more.”<br> Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,<br> “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;<br> But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,<br> And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,<br> That I scarce was sure I heard you” – here I opened wide the door;<br> Darkness there, and nothing more.<br> Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,<br> Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;<br> But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,<br> And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!”<br> This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”<br> Merely this, and nothing more.<br> Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,<br> Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.<br> “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice:<br> Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore<br> Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;<br> ‘Tis the wind and nothing more.”<br> Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,<br> In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;<br> Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;<br> But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door<br> Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door<br> Perched, and sat, and nothing more.<br> Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,<br> By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.<br> “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,<br> Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore<br> Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”<br> Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”<br> Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,<br> Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;<br> For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being<br> Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door<br> Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,<br> With such name as “Nevermore.”<br> But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only<br> That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.<br> Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered<br>
