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 late visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each seperate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;-vainly had I 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 mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, an he 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 something louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely thst is something at my window lattice;
Let me see what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;-
Open her I flung the shutter, when, with many a firt 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 chsmber door-
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum ofthe countenance he wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou" I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering in from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
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 above his chamber door-
Bird nor beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
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 tha muttered: "Other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me as my Hopes 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 fas 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 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, ungainlt, 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.
"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!"
"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, I implore!"
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still if, bird or devil!
By the heaven that bends above us-by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within some distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
"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!"
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
-by: Edgar Allan Poe
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no othe thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
and this is the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!-that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And niether the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling-my darling-my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
-by: Edgar Allan Poe
[A Man Said to the Universe]
A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
-from War is Kind
-by: Stephen Crane
Serpta Mason
My life's blossom might have bloomed on all sides
Save for a bitter wind which stunted my petals
On the side of me which you in the village could see.
From the dust I lift a voice of protest:
My flowering side you never saw!
Ye living ones, ye are fools indeed
Who do not know the ways of the wind
And the unseen forces
That govern the processes of life.
-by: Edgar Lee Masters
Richard Cory
Whenever Richard Cory went to town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was alwyas human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich-yes, richer than a king,-
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
-by: E.A. Robinson
Miniver Cheevy
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was every born,
And he had reasons.
Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would set him dancing
Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
And dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.
Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.
Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.
Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.
Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.
Miniver Cheevy, born to late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.
-by: E.A. Robinson
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-by: Robert Frost
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
-by: Robert Frost
Niether out Far nor in Deep
The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.
As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull.
The land may vary more
But whatever the truth may be-
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?
-by: Robert Frost
A Shadow in the Mist
A drifting shadow
A gray spirit's voyage
From the beginning
Through the middle
To the end
Ever eternal
Reborn anew
A lonely wayfarer
The Mystic
The Charlatan
A Shade traveling
Against the wind
Against the time
A wanderer lost to the world
As good turns to evil
And evil turns on itself
The watcher drifts by
Unseen
The Gypsy
The Vagabond
Traveling in the mists
Through foreign lands
Of mountainous spires
The full moon rises
The fog rolls in
A shadow flits by
Towards the wood
The Traveler's fire
A beacon in the night
For the wolves
The Enigma
The Bansidhe
A land of rising mist
A swamp of black trees
The drifting light of
Death
Through pain and sorrow
A dim hope dawning
With a gray sun
The fellowship made
The pact engraved
Against the Evil
We stand
Until the 'morrow
Comes
-by: Shawn J. Gaywont
Night
As the twilight creeps across the sky
A world of darkness doth draw nigh
Three times three the gray bell tolls
Bringing death to worlds untold
Until the dawn the living wait
A time of blackness tempting fate
We spend our days in ignorance
Of nighttime's darkling influence
In the deepest corners of our minds
A lurking horror waits to bind
A chill terror, born of night
A mortal fear, giving flight
Thorugh time and time and time again
Our own private horrors never end
And to the sky the dawn brings light
The darkness receeds without much fight
A sounding and resounding horn
Brings light to worlds
Reborn
-by: Shawn J. Gaywont
Such is the Serpent, Called Conceit
Conceit causes Contempt
Strong Soldiers Slay Snakes
of Ornery Omnipotence
A Clouded King Corrolates
Funnels of Frustration
Intimidation involves Illusion
Ego engulfs Ego
Exiting Existance
Reality Regurgitates Recklessly
Removing
the Clandestine Kingdom of Love
Condemning the Castle of Conceit
-by: Jason Mack
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