Literature Quiz / Edgar Allan Poe - The raven

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Edgar Allen Poe - The raven

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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
''Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door-
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
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,
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 'Lenore!'-
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, 'art sure no craven,
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
HintAnswer
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!'
'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!'
'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.'
'Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,' I shrieked, upstarting-
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

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