Edgar Allan Poe
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 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 marrow; --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 forevermore. 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 come 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 the darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing Doubling, dreaming dreams no mortal 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 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 threat 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 mein of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-- Perched upon my 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 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 blessed with seeing bird 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 farther than 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 stack 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 bosoms 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 Seraphin whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. Wretch, I cried, Thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee Respite--respite and nepethe from thy memories of Lenore, Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepethe and forget this lost Lenore! Quoth the Raven Nevermore.
Prophet! said I, thing of evil! Prophet still, if bird or devil!-- Whether Temptest sent, or whether temptest 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.
Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend! I shrieked, upstarting-- Get thee back into the temptest and the Night’s plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my lonliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heat, and Take thy form from off my door! Quoth the Raven Nevermore.
And the Raven, never flitting still as sitting, still as 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 over the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted-nevermore!
You are all, Hic, entitled to MY, Hic, opinion!
The happiest day -- the happiest hour
My sear'd and blighted heart hath known,
The highest hope of pride and power,
I feel hath flown.
Of power! said I? yes! such I ween;
But they have vanish'd long, alas!
The visions of my youth have been-
But let them pass.
And, pride, what have I now with thee?
Another brow may even inherit
The venom thou hast pour'd on me
Be still, my spirit!
The happiest day -- the happiest hour
Mine eyes shall see -- have ever seen,
The brightest glance of pride and power,
I feel- have been:
But were that hope of pride and power
Now offer'd with the pain
Even then I felt -- that brightest hour
I would not live again:
For on its wing was dark alloy,
And, as it flutter'd -- fell
An essence -- powerful to destroy
A soul that knew it well.
You are all, Hic, entitled to MY, Hic, opinion!
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
gugu
Seraph! thy memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea -
Some ocean vexed as it may be
With storms; but where, meanwhile,
Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright island smile.
For 'mid the earnest cares and woes
That crowd around my earthly path,
(Sad path, alas, where grows
Not even one lonely rose!)
My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee; and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.
You are all, Hic, entitled to MY, Hic, opinion!
just send my your study questions and i will endeavour to answer then the best of my ability
You are all, Hic, entitled to MY, Hic, opinion!