The Fairy (The Raven: by Edgar Alan 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 someone 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 dying ember wrought its ghost upon a floor, so worn.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Pibgorn -
     Nameless here, ere come the morn.

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 the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream be torn;
Put the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only world there spoken was the whispered word, «Pibgorn!»
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, «Pibgorn!»
     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 Fairy of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made she, not a minute stopped or stayed she,
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 fire haired dryad beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
«Though the crest be shorn and shaven, thou», I said, «art sure no Fairy,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient fairy, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore!»
     Quoth the Fairy, «Pibgorn».

Much I marvelled this lovely fairy 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 dryad above his chamber door -
Fairy or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door -
     With such name as «Pibgorn».

But the Fairy, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if her soul in that one word she did outpour.
Nothing farther then she uttered, not a wing then she fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, «Other friends have flown before!
On the morrow she will leave me, as my hopes have flown before!»
     Then the fairy said, «Pibgorn.»

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
Following fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
     Of «Pib- Pibgorn!»

But the Fairy still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of dryad and bust and door}
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous fairy of yore -
What this odd, unspeaking, ghostly, lithe, and ominous fairy of yore
     Meant in voicing «Pibgorn».

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fairy, 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 lamplight gloated o'er -
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
     She shall press, ah, Pibgorn!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls 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 Pibgorn!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Pibgorn!»
     Quoth the Fairy, «Pibgorn».

«Prophetess!» said I, «thing of evil! - prophetess still, if fey 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 Fairy, «Pibgorn».

«Prophetess!» said I, «thing of evil - prophetess still, if fey 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 name Pibgorn -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Pibgorn!»
     Quoth the Fairy, «Pibgorn».

«Be that word our sign of parting, fey or fiend!» I shrieked upstarting.
«Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no firey plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy hand from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!»
     Quoth the Fairy, «Pibgorn».

And the Fairy, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And her eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er her streaming throws her shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
     Shall be lifted - Nevermore!