PRESENTS
A Tribute to Edgar Allan Poe
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
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 named 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 mortal ever dared to dream before But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness 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 somewhat 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 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 bird above his chamber door - Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as `Nevermore.'
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. Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before - On the morrow will he 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, 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 has 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 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 - tell me, I implore!' Quoth 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 named Lenore - Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked up-starting - `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!
Watch a video I created that features a reading of The Raven by Basil Rathbone, with illustrations by Gustave Dore.
The Raven from Labyrinth13 on Vimeo
Here is an animated video (The Raven, oil paint on glass) featuring artist Louise Ridley's adaptation of the Poe classic. In this short film, a weary young poet, reading alone in his chamber at night, receives a sinister visitor.
Watch a video that features a full dramatization and a reading of The Raven by suspense and horror master, Vincent Price. (It is my opinion that this is one of the best visual adaptations of Poe's classic poem ever made).
Here is a great little clip called, The Raven, selected from the animated cartoon series, The Simpsons Halloween Special. Reading by James Earl Jones. (Click on image below; requires Windows Media Player to view).
The Conqueror Worm
by Edgar Allan Poe
Lo! 'tis a gala night within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight in veils, and drowned in tears, sit in a theatre, to see a play of hopes and fears, while the orchestra breathes fitfully the music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high, mutter and mumble low, and hither and thither fly- mere puppets they, who come and go at bidding of vast formless things that shift the scenery to and fro, flapping from out their condor wings invisible woe!
That motley drama, oh, be sure it shall not be forgot! With its phantom chased for evermore, by a crowd that seize it not, through a circle that ever returneth in to the self-same spot, and much of madness, and more of sin, and horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout a crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out the scenic solitude! It writhes! It writhes, with mortal pangs, the mimes become its food, and seraphs sob at vermin fangs in human gore imbued.
Out, out are the lights, out all! And, over each quivering form, the curtain, a funeral pall, comes down with the rush of a storm, while the angels, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm that the play is the tragedy, "Man," and its hero the Conqueror Worm.
Animated short film based on the poem, The Conqueror Worm by Edgar Allan Poe. Created by Andy Peterson and set to the Liszt classical composition, Danse Macabre.
See Also: | The Conqueror Worm Study Guide |
Animated short film based on the Edgar Allan Poe short story, The Tell-Tale Heart, narrated by James Mason.
Video clip featuring a Baltimore Museum of Art exhibit of French artists whose work was directly inspired by the writings of Edgar Allan Poe.
A Dream Within a Dream
by Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. |
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I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep, while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? |
See Also: | Tale of the Poe Toaster | In Praise of the Gothic Novel | Hanging with the Goth Kids |
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