The Raven
[Spoken Track]
[Poe:]
Once upon a midnight dreary
as 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."
Muttering I got up weakly
always I've had trouble sleeping
stumbling upright my mind racing
furtive thoughts flowing once more
I, there hoping for some sunrise
happiness would be a surprise
loneliness no longer a prize
rapping at my chamber door
seeking out the clever bore
lost in dreams forever more
only this and nothing more
Hovering my pulse was racing
stale tobacco my lips tasting
scotch sitting upon my basin
remnants of the night before
came again
infernal tapping on the door
in my mind jabbing
is it in or outside rapping
calling out to me once more
the fit and fury of Lenore
nameless here forever more
And the silken sad uncertain
rustling of the purple curtain
thrilled me, filled me
with fantastic terrors never felt before
so that now, oh wind, stood breathing
hoping yet to calm my breathing
"'Tis some visitor entreating
entrance at my chamber door
some lost visitor entreating
entrance at my chamber door
this it is, and nothing more."
Deep into the darkness peering
long I stood there
wondering fearing
doubting dreaming fantasies
no mortal dared to dream before
but the silence was unbroken
and the stillness gave no token
and the only word there spoken
was the whispered name, "Lenore
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
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 visiter," 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 name 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 visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visiter 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 mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the 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!"--
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my sour within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something 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 the 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 marvelled 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 upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will 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, ghastly, 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 hath 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 name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"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 has 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 shadows on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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First 4 Stanzas of MY VERSION of 'The Raven' by E. A. Poe
Once upon a bright spring morning, while I pondered about the heat,
Over many a splendid and soothing volume of forgotten sound,
While I nodded, nearly speechless, suddenly there came a knocking.
As of someone gently tapping, tapping at my house all around.
' 'Tis some visitor, ' I whispered, 'tapping at my house all around-
Only this, 'twas all I found.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the sparkling April,
And each separate blooming flower circled the room round.
Eagerly, I wished for more- I had to try to find
A dog of some sort that could hunt- maybe something like a hound-
For the rare and radiant maiden so she could have a hound-
Nothing else that I had found.
And the vibrant, vibrating uncertain rustling of each blue curtain
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic elation never felt before;
So that now, to still the fast beats of my heart, I stood saying
' 'Tis some visitor trying to come in at my door weighing a pound-
Some late visitor trying to come on at my door weighing a pound-
This it is, it was all I found.'
Presently my soul grew in strength; hesitating for a short time,
'Sir, ' said I, 'or Madam, truly you have great reason for being profound;
But the fact that you are here, and so gently you came knocking
And so faintly did I hear you, tapping at my house all around.
That I knew you would be here' - here I opened the door weighing a pound-
An angel there, with beautiful seraph sound.
poem by Rebecca Ryan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Untitled
When his heart is growing bitter and his hair is growing grey,
And he hears the debt-collector knocking several times a day,
And the shrill voice of the Missus, blame, reiterate, accuse—
Then the poet who was famous feels inclined to damn the muse— .....
When he hears a sudden rapping—rapping at his chamber door,
Then he knows it's no good trying to write poems any more,
Then he bursts from out his chamber and he grabs his battered hat,
And he cadges Two Bob somewhere and gets beered up on his pat.
poem by Henry Lawson
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To Knock on a Door
Who
Who
Who knocks?
Who knocks at
Who knocks at my door?
Who knocks at my door - not chamber
Who knocks at my door - not chamber door, but door. Who knocks?
Who knocks at my door - not chamber door, but door. Who knocks? Is it a raven - a raven
Who knocks at my door - not chamber door, but door. Who knocks? Is it a raven - a raven named Nevermore that knocks, knocks at my non-chamber door?
Who knocks at my door - not chamber door, but door. Who knocks? Is it a raven - a raven named Nevermore that knocks, knocks at my non-chamber door? ... No, it's just my brother, Josh, that knocks, knocks at my non-chamber door:
It's time for dinner.
poem by Hannah Shier
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Rapping isnt just rhyming and Poetry isnt just loving.
Poetry is like Rapping a game of grate rhyming and of victory. Rapping is suposed
to be mean and poetry is suposed to be lovey and sappy.
I say rapping and poetry mean what they mean.
keep rapping and rhyming dont let no body tell you how to write what u feel
Rapping is a game of give and take Poetry is a game of rhyming and english words
Rapping is not just a game and poetry is not just the name of rapping with love.
poem by Debbie Ledford
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The Raven
The raven
Lead vocal: alan parsons, leonard whiting
The clock struck midnight
And through my sleeping
I heard a tapping at my door
I looked but nothing lay in the darkness
And so I turned inside once more
To my amazement
There stood a raven
Whose shadow hung above my door
Then through the silence
It spoke that one word
That I shall hear forever more
Nevermore
Thus quoth the raven, nevermore
And still the raven remains in my room
No matter how much I implore
No words can soothe him
No prayer remove him
And I must hear for evermore
Quoth the raven, nevermore
Thus quoth the raven
Nevermore
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
quote by Edgar Allan Poe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Chamber Over The Gate
Is it so far from thee
Thou canst no longer see,
In the Chamber over the Gate,
That old man desolate,
Weeping and wailing sore
For his son, who is no more?
O Absalom, my son!
Is it so long ago
That cry of human woe
From the walled city came,
Calling on his dear name,
That it has died away
In the distance of to-day?
O Absalom, my son!
There is no far or near,
There is neither there nor here,
There is neither soon nor late,
In that Chamber over the Gate,
Nor any long ago
To that cry of human woe,
O Absalom, my son!
From the ages that are past
The voice sounds like a blast,
Over seas that wreck and drown,
Over tumult of traffic and town;
And from ages yet to be
Come the echoes back to me,
O Absalom, my son!
Somewhere at every hour
The watchman on the tower
Looks forth, and sees the fleet
Approach of the hurrying feet
Of messengers, that bear
The tidings of despair.
O Absalom, my son!
He goes forth from the door
Who shall return no more.
With him our joy departs;
The light goes out in our hearts;
In the Chamber over the Gate
We sit disconsolate.
O Absalom, my son!
That 't is a common grief
Bringeth but slight relief;
Ours is the bitterest loss,
Ours is the heaviest cross;
And forever the cry will be
'Would God I had died for thee,
O Absalom, my son!'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Behind The Door
With trembling hand,
I knocked upon the door,
which someone had sent me to.
They told me a new life
awaits me there.
I reached out
and knocked on the door
not knowing when it opened
exactly what I’d find.
My heart beat faster,
almost racing from my chest.
I could hear footsteps
coming from within.
My hand trembled even more
as the footsteps headed towards the door.
I stood there in anticipations
as the door begins to open wide.
So far, I have not told you
who will be coming to the door.
Will it be a long lost sibling,
a future love, or even God?
I will have to let you decide,
because being a nervous person.
The suspense was killing me,
so I ran and hid, and never saw
who was it answering the door.
poem by David Harris
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Stranger In The Wind...
Stranger in the wind...
Beckons at my door.
Stanger in the wind...
Wanting even more.
Stranger in the wind...
Hard to really ignore.
Stranger in the wind..
Making my heart ache, as sore.
Stranger in the wind...
Rapping at my door.
Stanger in the wind...
Who knows i am so poor.
Stranger in the wind...
My time here-has me bore...
Many aches and pains of a thirsting heart...
Can only be quenched by ye, your remembered part.
Stranger in the wind...
My heart, you'll win.
Stranger in the wind...
Yon soul so deep.
Stranger in the wind...
My heart you'll keep.
Stranger in the wind...
my soul you'll reap.
Stranger in the wind...
You make me weep.
poem by Michael Gale
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Circle unbroken
I remember a day somewhere in time,
Before these words were spoken.
When I was still your little one
And our circle was unbroken.
.
Then I came to the foot of your bed
Watching, , helpless, sighing
Shallow breathing, then a gasp
Then silence. Someone crying.
In this grey world I dressed in black
In somber tones of night
I walked like one still in shock
Uncertain of the light.
Sometimes I sat here in your room
Quiet and alone
As if the presence of your things
Could lure your presence home.
Once on a midsummer’s night
As I approached my home
The front door opened welcomely
But I was quite alone.
The night was hot, no breathe of air
No breeze to make it move
What’s more I’m sure I locked that door
But its nothing I can prove
Some explanation might be found
For what occurred that night
And probably my thoughts unsound
But I took comfort from that sight
I remembered a day somewhere in time,
Before these lines were spoken.
For I am still your little one
our circle is unbroken.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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On the Threshold
O God, my dream! I dreamed that you were dead;
Your mother hung above the couch and wept
Whereon you lay all white, and garlanded
With blooms of waxen whiteness. I had crept
Up to your chamber-door, which stood ajar,
And in the doorway watched you from afar,
Nor dared advance to kiss your lips and brow.
I had no part nor lot in you, as now;
Death had not broken between us the old bar;
Nor torn from out my heart the old, cold sense
Of your misprision and my impotence.
Morning Ember
Morning Ember
By: Adam M. Snow
I arose from my slumber with haste of morning ember;
to be greeted by a knock on my chamber door.
'Who's there? ' I said as I am greeted with an;
outstretched hand and the pain I feel nevermore.
'It is me, your mourning star, greeting you from afar.'
Quoth the ghost of this morning ember.
I lie back down, confused and alone on this cold;
forsaken morning December.
'I am your morning star, traveled all this way to be;
where you are.' said the ghost on the other side;
of my chamber door.
'Leave me alone! ' I screamed with agony.
'Just let me be on my own.' I said.
As the ghost replied, 'I am your morning star,
your guardian angel who traveled so far.'
I arose from where I lay to be greeted by a woman;
covered in light, wearing a gown so pure and white.
'Who are you? ' I said as fear struck my very core.
'I am your guardian angel showing you there's;
ever so more.' said the ghost now called angel.
'What is it that you want to show? '
I ask 'Surely it's something, I don't know.'
'You were lost but now you're found,
for you are saved by the Son;
with thorns he was crowned.' said the angel;
of morning ember.
'Was I truly lost? ' I said as I stopped to ponder.
Suddenly I remembered how my life I live is broken.
'Surely by listening to all that is spoken then perhaps;
my life will be anew.' I said. 'That is true.'
said the angel. 'By me being here with you changed;
your life but for you to live anew, first you must willingly
ask the father to forgive you.' Quoth the angel of;
morning ember.
My tears fall gently to the ground as I fell to my knees;
all is calm yet all is at ease, to the heaven I look with tears;
in my eye, I called out 'Father' as a started to cry, 'Forgive me,
for I was lost yet I couldn't see for without you I could never be free,
Father forgive me.'
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Bwana
Written by lindsey buckingham.
The night brings the stranger,
The jungle cries for more.
The natives in the villages,
The visitor at the door.
We all have our demons,
And sometimes they escape.
But bwana is the visitor,
In control of your own fate.
Bwana, bwana, bwana,
Bwana, bwana, bwana
The night brings on strangers,
The jungle cries for more.
The natives in the villages,
The visitor at the door.
song performed by by Lindsey Buckingham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Chamber Of Thoughts
Concealed by a shadow in the windowsill
Overlooking the gateway of no return,
The neighborhood is suspicious
Of the elfish silhouette against the glass
Of an unlit room...
My mind has no cause for concern
Because if I had to, I would explain
That I would here, indefinitely, remain,
Locked in my Chamber of Thoughts...
Sighted, obviously reported-a threat!
I retreat and go back to my desk
Or move deeper into open space
Where I listen attentively, motionless,
Waiting one day for the door to rip...
Open hinges with familiar complaints,
Bracing me for opposition
But I remain lacked still
Within my Chamber of Thoughts...
With no choice but to ignore them all,
I patiently continue with my creative works...
©All Rights Reserved-2011
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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Night of Ethereal
Night of Ethereal
By: Adam M. Snow
I heard a gentle tapping upon the night,
Stirred up with a humble fright,
As Darkness fallen upon my sight.
This kindled lamp is my only light,
Which flickers out till all is dark,
Which left upon me a kindled mark,
Which left me alone in a chamber murk,
Alone in a chamber cirque.
Not a candlelight to guide me,
Not a light to see.
I try that I must, but I cannot flee.
I try that I must to break free.
Out of my mouth sprung a whimper,
A plead with a simper,
As dark becomes a blur.
Darkness as if it were,
Beseeched upon the nightfall.
No, beseeched upon enthral
By the Night of Ethereal,
By the Night of Sprawl.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Another Learning
there is a door
between us as though
we are just
two adjacent rooms
to enter into your door
i need to have that key
you keep on telling me
the key was lost and you
do not know
where to find it anymore
there is another door
and you are allowing someone else to come in
at first i say 'This is unfair! ' and
I thought of forcing
that door open
on the other hand
i have my own door too
and the lock is broken
a long time ago i have
thrown out the key
for what use is a door with
a broken lock?
and for what use is your door
to my prayer?
i do not know what force is &
i already stopped begging
i change the frames of my window
i have some other plans in mind
there are nine planets in our
galaxy
there are many galaxies
in unlimited space
and like all those who still hope
they always know
that someone somewhere keeps
on waiting
in a world where doors welcome me
like arms in half-embrace
and so i go to places where
my feet are welcome
& i have learned the happiness
of forgetting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The chamber-bell (chamber-clapper, or curtain lecture) is the worst sound one have in his ears.
Risk
You put your name in a box with a million others not knowing what the prize will be.
A person mixes them around
And your name gets called.
You go onto the stage and wonder what the prizes will be.
The woman says choose door 1 or door 2.
You chose door 1 hoping it will be a car or a trip to Hawaii.
Door number 1 opens and you realize it is just a bunch of bikes.
You get down at first but then realize it was worth the risk.
For many people would love to get a chance at winning a prize even if they don't win.
For life is about taking risks.
Some go our way and some don't.
But at least we don't wonder forever what will happen if we don't.
For live is too short to wonder about what will happen.
So take the risk and it will be worth while no matter what happens.
poem by Christina J. Williams
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Do You Know Where You Are Going To
Do you know where you're going to?
Do you like the things that life is showing you?
Where are you going to? do you know?
Do you get what you're hoping for?
When you look behind you there's no open door
What are you hoping for?
Do you know?
Once we were standing still in time
Chasing the fantasies that filled our minds
You knew i loved you, but my spirit was free
Laughing at the question that you once ask me
Do you know where you're going to?
Do you like the things that life is showing you?
Where are you going to? do you know?
Now, looking back in all we pass
We've let so many dreams just slip through our hands
Why must we wait so long before we see
How sad the answers to those questions can be?
Do you know where you're going to?
Do you like the things that life is showing you?
Where are you going to? do you know?
Do you get what you're hoping for?
When you look behind you there's no open door
What are you hoping for? do you know?
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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