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Thread: What is your favorite Edgar Allen Poe poem?

  1. #1
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    What is your favorite Edgar Allen Poe poem?

    I would have to say that mine is: A Dream Within A Dream.
    Only a human mind could think of something as insipid as love.

  2. #2
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    Hello, Pillow, welcome to the forum.
    In narrowing down my favorite Edgar Allan Poe poem, I have quite a bit of difficulty, but would have to claim either "Annabel Lee," "A Dream Within A Dream," or "The City By The Sea."

    Annabel Lee

    It was many and many a year ago,
    In a kingdom by the sea,
    That a maiden there lived whom you may know
    By the name of Annabel Lee;
    And this maiden she lived with no other thought
    Than to love and be loved by me.

    I was a child and she was a child,
    In this kingdom by the sea:
    But we loved with a love that was more than love -
    I and my Annabel Lee;
    With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
    Coveted her and me.

    And this was the reason that, long ago,
    In this kingdom by the sea,
    A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
    My beautiful Annabel Lee;
    So that her high-born kinsmen came
    And bore her away from me,
    To shut her up in a sepulchre
    In this kingdom by the sea.

    The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
    Went envying her and me -
    Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
    In this kingdom by the sea)
    That the wind came out of the cloud one night,
    Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

    But our love it was stronger by far than the love
    Of those who were older than we -
    Of many far wiser than we -
    And neither the angels in heaven above,
    Nor the demons down under the sea,
    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

    For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
    Of my darling -my darling -my life and my bride,
    In the sepulchre there by the sea -
    In her tomb by the sounding sea.

    -----

    A Dream Within A Dream

    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?

    -----

    The City By The Sea

    Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
    In a strange city lying alone
    Far down within the dim West,
    Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
    Have gone to their eternal rest.
    There shrines and palaces and towers
    (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
    Resemble nothing that is ours.
    Around, by lifting winds forgot,
    Resignedly beneath the sky
    The melancholy waters he.

    No rays from the holy heaven come down
    On the long night-time of that town;
    But light from out the lurid sea
    Streams up the turrets silently-
    Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-
    Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls-
    Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls-
    Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
    Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers-
    Up many and many a marvellous shrine
    Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
    The viol, the violet, and the vine.
    Resignedly beneath the sky
    The melancholy waters lie.
    So blend the turrets and shadows there
    That all seem pendulous in air,
    While from a proud tower in the town
    Death looks gigantically down.

    There open fanes and gaping graves
    Yawn level with the luminous waves;
    But not the riches there that lie
    In each idol's diamond eye-
    Not the gaily-jewelled dead
    Tempt the waters from their bed;
    For no ripples curl, alas!
    Along that wilderness of glass-
    No swellings tell that winds may be
    Upon some far-off happier sea-
    No heavings hint that winds have been
    On seas less hideously serene.

    But lo, a stir is in the air!
    The wave- there is a movement there!
    As if the towers had thrust aside,
    In slightly sinking, the dull tide-
    As if their tops had feebly given
    A void within the filmy Heaven.
    The waves have now a redder glow-
    The hours are breathing faint and low-
    And when, amid no earthly moans,
    Down, down that town shall settle hence,
    Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
    Shall do it reverence.

  3. #3
    Serendipity! Kaltrina's Avatar
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    hello Pillow and Mono. I really enjoyed the poems you put there Mono. I have never read them before and I really liked them especially Annabel Lee. but my favourite Poe's poem is The Raven. it has something spooky on it but also truly divine. I love it.
    Hope you'll enjoy it to....

    The Raven
    by Edgar Allan Poe
    First Published in 1845

    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 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 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 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 the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals 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?, 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, something 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 the 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 upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as "Nevermore."


    But the raven, sitting lonely on that 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."

    Thus 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 lamplight gloated o'er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
    She shall press, ah, nevermore!


    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by seraphim 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 nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
    Quaff, O 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 name Lenore---
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name 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 lamplight 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!

  4. #4
    . veronic's Avatar
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    Mine would be "Annabel Lee". Because it is sheer, flowing beauty.
    And "Alone" I greatly love as well.

    From childhood's hour I have not been
    As others were; I have not seen
    As others saw; I could not bring
    My passions from a common spring.
    From the same source I have not taken
    My sorrow; I could not awaken
    My heart to joy at the same tone;
    And all I loved, I loved alone.
    Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
    Of a most stormy life- was drawn
    From every depth of good and ill
    The mystery which binds me still:
    From the torrent, or the fountain,
    From the red cliff of the mountain,
    From the sun that round me rolled
    In its autumn tint of gold,
    From the lightning in the sky
    As it passed me flying by,
    From the thunder and the storm,
    And the cloud that took the form
    (When the rest of Heaven was blue)
    Of a demon in my view.

    (My, a pure pleasure to the tongue)
    winds take a pensive tone,
    and stars a tender fire,
    and visions rise, and change,
    that kill me with desire

  5. #5
    Heaven's light arabian night's Avatar
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    I really like The raven as well especially that poe goes in the depth of the human mind and psycology to explore them which is obvious in his poems.
    "The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!"
    Robert Browning

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    I love "Annabel Lee" also. I like how the speaker's love for Annabel Lee goes on even after her death.

  7. #7
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    I love all Poe's poems but as three favourites have already been posted; Raven, Dream Within a Dream, Alone - how can you not add "Eldorado"


    ELDORADO – Poe

    Gaily bedight,
    A gallant knight,
    In sunshine and in shadow,
    Had journeyed long,
    Singing a song,
    In search of Eldorado.

    But he grew old-
    This knight so bold-

    And o’er his heart a shadow
    Fell as he found
    No spot of ground
    That looked like Eldorado.

    And, as his strength
    Failed him at length,
    He met a pilgrim shadow-
    ‘Shadow’, said he ,
    ‘Where can it be-
    This land of Eldorado?’

    ‘Over the Mountains
    Of the Moon,
    Down the Valley of the Shadow,
    Ride, boldly ride,’
    The shade replied,-
    ‘If you seek for Eldorado!’
    [/FONT]"...You can say anything you want, yessir, but it's the words that sing, they soar and descend.... I bow to them... I love them, I cling to them, I run them down. I bite into them, I melt them down.... I love words so much... The unexpected ones....The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop..." -Pablo Neruda

  8. #8
    learning IrishCanadian's Avatar
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    I love "The Raven." I like to read it allowed to myself (I'm a drama major), it sounds so gret rolling of your tongue. But my favorite would be "The Conquerer Worm." It gave me the weeblies. But it doesn't seem to be anywhere on this site. But I think i can find it in a google search.

    by Edgar Allan Poe
    (1843)



    Lo! 'tis a gala night
    Within the lonesome latter years!
    An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
    In veils, and drowned in tears,
    Sit in a theatre, to see
    A play of hopes and fears,
    While the orchestra breathes fitfully
    The music of the spheres.
    Mimes, in the form of God on high,
    Mutter and mumble low,
    And hither and thither fly-
    Mere puppets they, who come and go
    At bidding of vast formless things
    That shift the scenery to and fro,
    Flapping from out their Condor wings
    Invisible Woe!

    That motley drama- oh, be sure
    It shall not be forgot!
    With its Phantom chased for evermore,
    By a crowd that seize it not,
    Through a circle that ever returneth in
    To the self-same spot,
    And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
    And Horror the soul of the plot.

    But see, amid the mimic rout
    A crawling shape intrude!
    A blood-red thing that writhes from out
    The scenic solitude!
    It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
    The mimes become its food,
    And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
    In human gore imbued.

    Out- out are the lights- out all!
    And, over each quivering form,
    The curtain, a funeral pall,
    Comes down with the rush of a storm,
    While the angels, all pallid and wan,
    Uprising, unveiling, affirm
    That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
    And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
    Irish poets, learn your trade!
    -Yeats

  9. #9
    God^ess of Temptation XoxangelFuryxoX's Avatar
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    love all his pieces... but what amaze me most are; "Tamerlane (i can't post it here... its too long) Fairy-Land and Sonnet-To Zante"

    FAIRY-LAND
    (1829)


    Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
    And cloudy-looking woods,
    Whose forms we can't discover
    For the tears that drip all over!
    Huge moons there wax and wane-
    Again- again- again-
    Every moment of the night-
    Forever changing places-
    And they put out the star-light
    With the breath from their pale faces.
    About twelve by the moon-dial,
    One more filmy than the rest
    (A kind which, upon trial,
    They have found to be the best)
    Comes down- still down- and down,
    With its centre on the crown
    Of a mountain's eminence,
    While its wide circumference
    In easy drapery falls
    Over hamlets, over halls,
    Wherever they may be-
    O'er the strange woods- o'er the sea-
    Over spirits on the wing-
    Over every drowsy thing-
    And buries them up quite
    In a labyrinth of light-
    And then, how deep!- O, deep!
    Is the passion of their sleep.
    In the morning they arise,
    And their moony covering
    Is soaring in the skies,
    With the tempests as they toss,
    Like- almost anything-
    Or a yellow Albatross.
    They use that moon no more
    For the same end as before-
    Videlicet, a tent-
    Which I think extravagant:
    Its atomies, however,
    Into a shower dissever,
    Of which those butterflies
    Of Earth, who seek the skies,
    And so come down again,
    (Never-contented things!)
    Have brought a specimen
    Upon their quivering wings.


    ---------

    SONNET- TO ZANTE

    by Edgar Allan Poe
    (1837)


    Fair Isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
    Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!
    How many memories of what radiant hours
    At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
    How many scenes of what departed bliss!
    How many thoughts of what entombed hopes!
    How many visions of a maiden that is
    No more- no more upon thy verdant slopes!
    No more! alas, that magical sad sound
    Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more-
    Thy memory no more! Accursed ground
    henceforth I hold thy flower-enameled shore,
    O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!
    "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!"
    Last edited by XoxangelFuryxoX; 12-10-2005 at 09:50 AM. Reason: my signiture is showing the html codes
    Heart is in dismay
    Teardrops in the rain
    “I buried my lover’s soul
    Out there in that sepultures tomb”


    XoxangelFuryxoX

  10. #10
    Daydream Believer Kiwi Shelf's Avatar
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    Hm, I thought I knew which ones I liked, but I discovered some ones I didn't know on here. One of these days I need to read all of his poems. I have always like "The Raven" but that is because it is commonly known. I think my fav though will remain Annabel Lee.
    "Hear and you forget; see and you remember; do and you understand."

  11. #11
    Angel Of Darkness NightmareBeauty's Avatar
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    "A Dream Within A Dream" is a beautiful poem but I personally like "The Valley Of Unrest" its very interesting.
    Darkness falls upon the sky
    Chills run up and down your spine
    and you don't know why

  12. #12
    Registered User lghtrlov's Avatar
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    Well, Annabel Lee seems very popular, and I must admit - I quite like it. Always have, actually, though it's got a much different feel than many of his other works. It's haunting, which is (of course) a familiar sentiment, but it's sadly haunting; it's sadly insane. I'm not actually a very big fan of Poe's poetry, to be honest. And The Raven? To that I say, "Nevermore." I just find it dry, which is very dissapointing to me, because I generally find that Poe is anything but. Ah, but to each her own...

    I apologize for my very bad joke.
    There's beauty in the breakdown...
    -Frou Frou, Let Go

  13. #13
    Registered User Kluna's Avatar
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    I enjoy the most in: The Raven, The Conquerer Worm, and The City By The Coast the rest are more less ok, but non that impressive like these
    Does killing time damage eternity?

  14. #14
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    Another vote for Annabel Lee and The Raven. I don't know if i could pick between them. They both involve lossing someone you love but in Annabel Lee he is to see her again and in The Raven he isn't. So it's hard to pick

  15. #15
    Metamorphosing Pensive's Avatar
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    I like The Raven the best for it is written beautifully and leaves a great effect on me.

    The Raven
    by 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 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 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 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 the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals 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?, 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, something 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 the 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 upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as "Nevermore."


    But the raven, sitting lonely on that 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."

    Thus 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 lamplight gloated o'er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
    She shall press, ah, nevermore!


    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by seraphim 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 nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
    Quaff, O 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 name Lenore---
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name 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 lamplight 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!
    I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew.

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