Calm Before The Storm

[cravnravn]

 

 

 

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

Lenore -

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore

-

Nameless here for evermore.

 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of

each purple curtain

Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt

before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I 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 my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no

longer,

`Sir,' said I, `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 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 silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

And

the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'

This I

whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'

Merely this and

nothing more.

 

Back into the chamber 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 -

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

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 my chamber door -

Perched upon a bust of

Pallas just above my 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,' I 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

I marvelled 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 blessed with seeing bird above his

chamber door -

Bird or beast above 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 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.'

 

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

"Never-nevermore."'

 

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul 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.'

 

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 lamp-light gloated o'er,

But whose velvet

violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

She shall press, ah,

nevermore!

 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen

censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted

floor.

`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has

sent thee

Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of

Lenore!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost

Lenore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 

`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!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 

`Prophet!' said I, `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 named Lenore

-

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'

Quoth

the raven, `Nevermore.'

 

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or

fiend!' I 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 my

chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is

dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er 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!

[cravnravn]

CAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

 

CAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW