From the Eyes of the Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary as I wandered, wet and weary
Through the silent shrouded dampness of the cloudy grayish fog
As I searched in the night for some tiny ray of light
I saw, to my surprise, a single window glowing bright
Framing a man, his face in shadow in the candle’s flickering light—
A single candle’s faltering light. 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December
And the frigid air of night froze drops of water on the glass
So cold was I, I started tapping—I could not keep myself from rapping
With my beak, frantically rapping (though I knew it was quite crass)
Hoping he would hear me tapping loudly on the glass
And let me in to warm myself at last

But his hesitation filled me with a heavy hopeless sadness
At the window looking in just like so many times before
Still, my need and my desire kept me near the glowing fire
Though I watched with great confusion as he stood before the door
Muttering to himself as he stood before the door
His shadow wavering on the floor.

Presently he seemed much stronger, hesitating then no longer
He stood up straight and then seemed to address the door at length
Thinking that my rapping and believing that my tapping
That had woken him from napping was a visitor coming late,
Then grasping the handle he flung open the door with all his strength,
Shoving it with no restraint.

What exactly he expected, when he mistakenly directed
His attention and his interest at the dark and silent door
Deep into the darkness peering, why he stood there, doubting, fearing—
This I wondered as I waited (Still I'm not entirely sure)
And an echo murmured back to him the whispered word "Lenore!"—
This he said, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, with his eyes in sadness burning
I resigned myself to tapping (yet much louder than before)
"Surely," said he "surely that is something at my window lattice."
Then he stepped forth and opened the window as he had the door
And with a movement of my wings I landed with a slight and agile soar
My shadow cast as some unseemly bird of lore.

My raggedness then beguiling his sad fancy into smiling
As I settled on the pallid bust of Pallas o’er the door
I scarcely could contain my