The Raven (förkortad)
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, suddely there came a tapping,
As if 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 seperate 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.
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
'Surely' I said, 'surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what threat is, and this mystey explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this 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 rave of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obesance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mein of lord or lady, perched above by chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
'Prophet' said I, 'thing od 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, withing 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 be our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shriek upstarting -
'Get thee back into tempest and Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie that 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 that 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 seemings 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 my floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Så sorglig men så bra!!! <3<3<3<3 By; Edgar Allan Poe 1845
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddely there came a tapping,
As if 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 seperate 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.
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
'Surely' I said, 'surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what threat is, and this mystey explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this 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 rave of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obesance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mein of lord or lady, perched above by chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
'Prophet' said I, 'thing od 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, withing 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 be our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shriek upstarting -
'Get thee back into tempest and Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie that 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 that 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 seemings 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 my floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Så sorglig men så bra!!! <3<3<3<3 By; Edgar Allan Poe 1845
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