The Raven’s reply
It was a dreary moonless night when the Goddess bid me take a message to his door.
I pondered once, but nothing more. Twas a missive of the Goddess.
“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.”
I rapped harder on the chamber door. No reply I received, what could this man be thinking. Never keep a messenger of the Goddess waiting.
“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 for evermore.”
I flew around to his window peeking in the pane looking at the dying embers of his ill kept fire place. He looked to be in mourning on this cold December eve. His face sunken in darkness his eyes disappeared into the shadows of his gaunt and hollow cheeks.
“ 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.”
Stop your loathing, stop your entreating, and answer this chamber door. Tis cold and my wings are covering with frost as you shake and quiver from the fear that you endeavor to invent upon your soul.
“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.”
You could have responded when I was there. Now I am at your shutters. You were not napping, when I was rapping. I see you pondering, and creeping through your house, gently weeping. Why does your heart break on this dreary winter night? What set these facts in action?
“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 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.”
Lenore is no more you poor maddened soul. I’ve come to tell you and nothing more. Now just come over to the window and let in this poor cold fellow.
“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!”
Tis not the wind, and my patience is wearing thin. This long night I have been rapping while your mind is in repose. No wind, my mortal friend. Just open up this portal and let me deliver this short repose.
“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.”
Finally you let me in. Now you can wait while I warm my feathers. I will leave you ponder what message I have. Just perch here on your bust of Pallas above the chamber door. I will perch now 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.”
Nevermore shall you wonder about your glorious Lenore. For the Goddess, she has sent me answer your query. That is all and nothing more. Stop your quivering and shaking.
“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—Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as “Nevermore.”
I let out a sigh, not an easy task for one with no lips. My name is not Nevermore. I’m here to answer your query so may ponder nevermore over the fate of the lovely Lenore.
“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 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.”
Ahh, you cannot understand me. You have lost your speech. Allow me to assist you this once and nothing more. The spell was simple, the air fluttered then sparked and died like the embers, casting ghostly shadows on the floor.
“Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
You look at me with some doubt reflected in your eye.
“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’.”
Your fate is twisted your mind a flutter with doubt, and dread, and nothing more. Should you have a care to listen, I will deliver my missive from the Goddess.
“But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy 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.”
Looking into his haunted eyes, I was tempted to play upon his woes. I refrained and drew a breath ready to tell of the lost Lenore.
“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 lamplight gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er She shall press, ah, nevermore!”
At this gent I stood staring, pondering my quest. Would he cease long enough for me to deliver my Mistress’ query or would I linger forever on this bust and nothing more?
“Then, me thought, 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 hath 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."
Was I doomed to say this word, some spell upon me stood. I unwillingly uttered, “Nevermore”. Tis not my name and this is not some foul game. Who or what had bewitched me as I sought to do nere but the Goddess’ bidding.
"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!"
Nay, I dare not say it. Make it stop I implore
“Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Goddess what is this foul thing that has been cast upon me. Stop this madness, I implore!
"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!"
Fluttering from the bust to the sill, I tried to ponder what foul thing was amiss. I was here to deliver a message about the radiant Lenore. The maiden now in the bosom of my glorious Goddess. Yet from my beak only, comes.
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Back on the bust I flew, renewing my faith in the Goddess. The time would come.
"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!"
Shaking my head I looked into his face once more. I realized now that madness had taken him and the Goddess had stilled my speech sparing his heart from further breaking.
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!
I shall leave you to your madness your never ending sadness. Great poet who pines for the lovely Lenore. Know this day it won’t be long and you will be with her evermore.
Out I flew into the night my wings frosting on the way to the Goddess’ sturdy oaken door. I rapt thrice before it opened and was drawn into the parlor. She was sitting by the fire her face aglow with understanding.
Landing on her outstretched arm she warmed my ebon feathers by the warm embers of the hearth. Stroking them with her long slender fingers, I heard her say, “Good job Jet.”
