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—     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;—     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;—     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!”—     Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. Discover the fate of Yesper the Raven 2. Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door! Poems to integrate into your English Language Arts classroom. Amy Crook has made her living since the 90s with writing, art, and design. Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—     Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—     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     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     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,     Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”     And the Raven, never flitting, 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 We’d love your help. “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;—     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— 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!”     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,     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. Hank Green reads a quintessential Halloween poem, “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe. Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore." Get ready for some of the best...A heartwarming love story, very fluffy and possibly cavity inducing. Be the first to ask a question about The Raven Door The cover really put me off, but I decided to give it a try anyway. About this Poet 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. There's not really that much to it, but it's sweet, though almost too sugary for me.



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