The Raven

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 name 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 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 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 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 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."

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 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."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Tempter sent, or wether 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!"

Qouth 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 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!


Edgar Allan Poe (1845).

Did this for media. A bit dark, but then that's to be expected; it's a raven, afterall.
- posted by Aesc @ 2:11 AM

 
Erm... I seem to be posting only once a month, which (I think) is very bad. lack of committment, and all that.

But it is the holidays now, and life is good. Haha, I thumb my nose at anyone who is working.
- posted by Aesc @ 2:06 AM

 
How lovely. I got the course that I wanted. Very satisfying.

On the other hand, not, because I have an almost flu.

Wearing da's shirt and socks with old-too-short pajamas. Mum says that I look like an escapee from the circus.

Haha...? Sniff.
- posted by Aesc @ 4:15 AM

 
Yesterday was terrible, and not in the funny terrible way either, because there was really nothing to laugh at, not like the way last tuesday was terrible because I nearly fell down the stairs and left my thumbdrive in school and was freaking out over Mary's postcards, which, by the way were finally approved yesterday, and was the only good thing that happened, and I digress.

Badly, and often.

So I was at school at nine when class was at ten, and Lily was at home, and she'd waited for me for one and a half hours, and, well, guilty, and thoroughly aggravated, because waiting, again, and my hor fun had sausages in it, and since when does hor fun have sausages?

And media sucked, and Ly shut down the computer and thank goodnes I'd saved, and dammit, I didn't so half everything was gone, and antsy twitchy crazy during critical.

God.
- posted by Aesc @ 8:54 PM

 
“It’s not so much that I care about what you’re doing, but the idiotic way you’re doing it.” - Vincent Valentine

Because sometimes, people really get to me.

Laughs. Are people not amusing?
- posted by Aesc @ 5:55 AM

 
Ok, so I'm taking a page from Ly's book in doing this, but well, class ended an hour early and I've nothing to do. Or rather, I have something to do, that being Mary's work, but I don't feel like doing it. Tried to sleep, but apparently my mind is running around too much and I just can't stop thinking.

Meh, whatever.

Mmm, Neil Gaiman has a new book out, which is so totally Squee! inducing, but erm, money. And if for some reason the meaning of that is not clear...well, nothing much that I can do about it actually. Haha. Ly was so exuberant this morning because she finished her homework before me, but really I see no reason why that would be cause for celebration.

Bleargh, am really not in the mood today.

On the other hand- running people, haha!
- posted by Aesc @ 9:05 PM

 
Squeee...Ly's mum is sending us to school tomorrow, squeeSqueeSQUEEEEEEEEEEE!!

So happy, hahaha, :) !

Had a really depressing conversation with San today.

But Ly's mum is sending us to school, SQUEEE!

Happy, sorta.

Bah, but my painting sucks.
- posted by Aesc @ 3:54 AM

 
Oh ya! I want to be a bus-driver when I grow up. Though there are some people who would argue that I'm more than grown up enough already.

I so beg to differ. But only figuratively.

Catch me begging anyone for anything.

(And I'm very carefully not saying (writing!) never, because otherwise I'd end up in some sort of odd situation which will have me on my knees, so!)

So I told mum so over dinner and she looked at me, and it was a very speaking look, which said I'm-not-sure-that-I-want-to-know-but-I'll-humour-you-and-ask-anyway, and said,"Why?" to which I very cheerfully replied that I enjoyed seeing people run. Why, there was this guy who, while chasing after the bus, appeared very much like a chicken.

Rooster.

Whatever.

But I'll need to learn how to drive first, which is so not happening.

Or at least, not happening right now.
- posted by Aesc @ 5:59 AM

 
Hmm. I wanted to write about something, but I forgot. How annoying. I'll probably remember what when I'm on the bus, or something.

How really annoying.
- posted by Aesc @ 5:57 AM