THE RAVEN. Melancholy burden bore But the raven still beguiling Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in I betook myself to linking What this ominous bird of yore, What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, This I sat engaged in guessing, That the lamplight gloated o'er; Then, methought, the air grew denser, Perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by angels, whose faint footfalls Tinkled on the tufted floor. THE RAVEN. "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." 66 Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! Is there, is there balm in Gilead? Tell me tell me, I implore!" Quoth the raven "Nevermore." "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! By that heaven that bends above us, Whom the angels name Lenore, Whom the angels name Lenore." THE RAVEN. "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! Quit the bust above my door! And the raven, never flitting, On the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming Of a demon 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 EDGAR ALLAN POE. THAT which her slender waist confined It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer; THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG. My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, A narrow compass! and yet there EDMUND WALLER. SLEEP! THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG. The ghostly winds are blowing; No moon abroad, no star is glowing; Beyond moon or star, To the land where the sinless angels are. I lost my heart to your heartless sire, Where the waters flow, And make us a bed where none shall know. The world is cruel, the world is untrue; |