Blog Archives

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,the raven2
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 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 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 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 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 he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, ‘Nevermore.’

the raven1Startled 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 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 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 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!

(First published by Edgar Allan Poe, January 1845)

Finding Fairy Tales in Everyday Life

forest

Once upon a time, I discovered that fairytales are not just stories.

They became not just my book obsession, not just an infatuation with princesses and mythical kingdoms. Fairytales became, for me, a way of life, and a way of thinking. Something that, as a child, came straight from my heart and has, over the years, wound through my entire being, even finding its way into my logical thinking.

I can remember the first time I read a fairytale that transported me completely from this world into another. I can still remember the way it felt as if I had just discovered that magic truly existed. I can remember the smell of the book and the feel of my hands on it, the way the sunlight was coming into my bedroom as I sat cross-legged on my bed, leaning over my book until I developed a horrible crick in my neck … but kept reading anyway.

And I knew I could never be the same again.fairytale

Yet I grew older I experienced troubles and heartbreak, just as everyone does. I became cynical and cautious, and almost lost hold of the fairytale in me. But God gave me a second chance in the form of my own child. I have learned to see things through his eyes. And does he see things!

When he was only two, he pointed out a large chink in our neighbor’s driveway, stooped to carefully examine it, then stated most seriously that he had found a dragon footprint.

I related the above event to my husband, rapturously declaring that our son had the imagination of a genius (well, I’m a mom, so I can say those things …). And of course, while he is no doubt a genius, I think the thing that truly struck me that day (and has struck me countless times since) was how something so astoundingly mundane could become so, well, astounding. And all in the course of two seconds – all because of a handful of words, a different point of view, a tiny drop of imagination and the guileless courage of a two-year-old to see something for what it could be instead of what it in fact was.

It’s not a new concept by any means, looking for inspiration in unexpected places. But even so, it’s one that is all too easy to forget in the hubbub of our daily lives, in the busyness of our work and family schedules and the running to and fro.

Mostly it just takes a conscious will to stop, or at least slow down, and look around you. It doesn’t matter if you live in a bustling city, or a small town, or out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing is off limits. Everything can be fairytale. Is it ugly? Is it boring? Is it broken? Those things make some of the most beautiful fairytales of all.

gnome homeBecause really, when you think about it, aren’t we living out epic tales of our own? A tale called “life” that’s tragic and involved and messy and glorious and heartbreaking and, most of all, full of hope.

Today my son found a “gnome home” in the hollow of a tree as we walked in the woods. That was his fairytale. And my fairytale? Yes, I found one today, too, but not in the tree. It was in the thrill of love I felt watching my son’s brown eyes widen with excitement as he made his own small, but crucial, discovery. And I was transported into his world.

Isn’t that just how fairytales are supposed to make you feel?

Nathan Lumbatis

Exploring Faith Through Fantasy

Savvy Writers & e-Books online

Writing & Publishing, e-Books & Book Marketing

The New Authors Fellowship

For unpublished authors. By unpublished authors.

Worthy 2 Read

"Whatever is worthy . . ." Phil. 4:8

Loyal Books Blog

Indepth Children's Book Reviews from a Christian Mom's Perspective

The Story Sanctuary

Teen book reviews from a Christian world-view.

Fairy Tale Fanatic

Food, Fairy Tales, and Consumption.

Writing for Kids (While Raising Them)

Blog & website of children's book author Tara Lazar

Rewrite, Reword, Rework

Rebecca LuElla Miller's editing tips and services

I am a mermaid

A delicate, ladylike blog for mermaids and the humans who love them

The Matt Walsh Blog

Absolute Truths (and alpaca grooming tips)

Daniel Whyte IV

Writer. Web Developer. Radio Producer.

Lisen Minetti

A Work in Progress

Druid Life

Pagan reflections from a Druid author - life, community, inspiration, health, hope, and radical change