{"id":69,"date":"2011-01-21T15:35:00","date_gmt":"2011-01-21T15:35:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/apps.lib.ua.edu\/blogs\/coolathoole\/2011\/01\/21\/happy-belated-mr-e-a-poe\/"},"modified":"2016-01-28T16:27:19","modified_gmt":"2016-01-28T22:27:19","slug":"happy-belated-mr-e-a-poe","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/apps.lib.ua.edu\/blogs\/coolathoole\/2011\/01\/21\/happy-belated-mr-e-a-poe\/","title":{"rendered":"Happy Belated, Mr. E.A. Poe!"},"content":{"rendered":"<div><a href=\"http:\/\/4.bp.blogspot.com\/_SKZFgbJ3JRs\/TTmoEZK73sI\/AAAAAAAAA68\/-Z8IZnrGdNs\/s1600\/pba00538f01l.jpg\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/4.bp.blogspot.com\/_SKZFgbJ3JRs\/TTmoEZK73sI\/AAAAAAAAA68\/-Z8IZnrGdNs\/s400\/pba00538f01l.jpg\" alt=\"\" border=\"0\" \/><\/a>The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe<br \/>\n1893, New York, New York: E. P. Dutton and Company<br \/>\nFrom the Wade Hall Collection of Southern History and Culture<br \/>\n<a href=\"http:\/\/bindings.lib.ua.edu\/\">and Publishers&#8217; Bindings Online, 1815-1930: The Art of Books<\/a><\/div>\n<div>The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe<\/div>\n<div>Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,<br \/>\nOver many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,<br \/>\nWhile I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,<br \/>\nAs of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.<br \/>\n&#8220;&#8216;Tis some visitor,&#8221; I muttered, &#8220;tapping at my chamber door &#8211;<br \/>\nOnly this, and nothing more.&#8221;<\/div>\n<p>Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,<br \/>\nAnd each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.<br \/>\nEagerly I wished the morrow; &#8211; vainly I had sought to borrow<br \/>\nFrom my books surcease of sorrow &#8211; sorrow for the lost Lenore &#8211;<br \/>\nFor the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore &#8211;<br \/>\nNameless here for evermore.<\/p>\n<p>And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain<br \/>\nThrilled me &#8211; filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;<br \/>\nSo that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,<br \/>\n&#8220;&#8216;Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door &#8211;<br \/>\nSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; &#8211;<br \/>\nThis it is, and nothing more.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,<br \/>\n&#8220;Sir,&#8221; said I, &#8220;or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;<br \/>\nBut the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,<br \/>\nAnd so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,<br \/>\nThat I scarce was sure I heard you&#8221;- here I opened wide the door; &#8211;<br \/>\nDarkness there, and nothing more.<\/p>\n<p>Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,<br \/>\nDoubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;<br \/>\nBut the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,<br \/>\nAnd the only word there spoken was the whispered word, &#8220;Lenore?&#8221;<br \/>\nThis I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, &#8220;Lenore!&#8221; &#8211;<br \/>\nMerely this, and nothing more.<\/p>\n<p>Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,<br \/>\nSoon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.<br \/>\n&#8220;Surely,&#8221; said I, &#8220;surely that is something at my window lattice:<br \/>\nLet me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore &#8211;<br \/>\nLet my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; &#8211;<br \/>\n&#8216;Tis the wind and nothing more.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,<br \/>\nIn there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;<br \/>\nNot the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;<br \/>\nBut, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door &#8211;<br \/>\nPerched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door &#8211;<br \/>\nPerched, and sat, and nothing more.<\/p>\n<p>Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,<br \/>\nBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.<br \/>\n&#8220;Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,&#8221; I said, &#8220;art sure no craven,<br \/>\nGhastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore &#8211;<br \/>\nTell me what thy lordly name is on the Night&#8217;s Plutonian shore!&#8221;<br \/>\nQuoth the Raven, &#8220;Nevermore.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,<br \/>\nThough its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;<br \/>\nFor we cannot help agreeing that no living human being<br \/>\nEver yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door &#8211;<br \/>\nBird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,<br \/>\nWith such name as &#8220;Nevermore.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only<br \/>\nThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.<br \/>\nNothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered &#8211;<br \/>\nTill I scarcely more than muttered, &#8220;other friends have flown before &#8211;<br \/>\nOn the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.&#8221;<br \/>\nThen the bird said, &#8220;Nevermore.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,<br \/>\n&#8220;Doubtless,&#8221; said I, &#8220;what it utters is its only stock and store,<br \/>\nCaught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster<br \/>\nFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore &#8211;<br \/>\nTill the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore<br \/>\nOf &#8216;Never &#8211; nevermore&#8217;.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,<br \/>\nStraight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;<br \/>\nThen upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking<br \/>\nFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore &#8211;<br \/>\nWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore<br \/>\nMeant in croaking &#8220;Nevermore.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing<br \/>\nTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom&#8217;s core;<br \/>\nThis and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining<br \/>\nOn the cushion&#8217;s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o&#8217;er,<br \/>\nBut whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o&#8217;er,<br \/>\nShe shall press, ah, nevermore!<\/p>\n<p>Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer<br \/>\nSwung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.<br \/>\n&#8220;Wretch,&#8221; I cried, &#8220;thy God hath lent thee &#8211; by these angels he hath sent thee<br \/>\nRespite &#8211; respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore:<br \/>\nQuaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!&#8221;<br \/>\nQuoth the Raven, &#8220;Nevermore.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Prophet!&#8221; said I, &#8220;thing of evil! &#8211; prophet still, if bird or devil! &#8211;<br \/>\nWhether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,<br \/>\nDesolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted &#8211;<br \/>\nOn this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore &#8211;<br \/>\nIs there &#8211; is there balm in Gilead? &#8211; tell me &#8211; tell me, I implore!&#8221;<br \/>\nQuoth the Raven, &#8220;Nevermore.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Prophet!&#8221; said I, &#8220;thing of evil &#8211; prophet still, if bird or devil!<br \/>\nBy that Heaven that bends above us &#8211; by that God we both adore &#8211;<br \/>\nTell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,<br \/>\nIt shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore &#8211;<br \/>\nClasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.&#8221;<br \/>\nQuoth the Raven, &#8220;Nevermore.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,&#8221; I shrieked, upstarting &#8211;<br \/>\n&#8220;Get thee back into the tempest and the Night&#8217;s Plutonian shore!<br \/>\nLeave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!<br \/>\nLeave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!<br \/>\nTake thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!&#8221;<br \/>\nQuoth the Raven, &#8220;Nevermore.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting<br \/>\nOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;<br \/>\nAnd his eyes have all the seeming of a demon&#8217;s that is dreaming,<br \/>\nAnd the lamplight o&#8217;er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;<br \/>\nAnd my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor<br \/>\nShall be lifted &#8211; nevermore!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe 1893, New York, New York: E. P. Dutton and Company From the Wade Hall Collection of Southern History and Culture and Publishers&#8217; Bindings Online, 1815-1930: The Art of Books The Raven by Edgar Allan &hellip; <a href=\"https:\/\/apps.lib.ua.edu\/blogs\/coolathoole\/2011\/01\/21\/happy-belated-mr-e-a-poe\/\">Continue reading <span class=\"meta-nav\">&rarr;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":435,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11119,6741,8189],"tags":[11130],"class_list":["post-69","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-jessica-lacher-feldman","category-publishers-bindings-online","category-wade-hall-collection","tag-edgar-allan-poe"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.0 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Happy Belated, Mr. E.A. Poe! - What&#039;s Cool at Hoole<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/apps.lib.ua.edu\/blogs\/coolathoole\/2011\/01\/21\/happy-belated-mr-e-a-poe\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Happy Belated, Mr. E.A. Poe! - What&#039;s Cool at Hoole\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe 1893, New York, New York: E. P. 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