Once upon a morning dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of some Argent bore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my cubefarm door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my cubefarm door-
Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was not the bleak December,
And each separate BC * member wrought their feet upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From some desk surcease of sorrow- sorrow for cake lost before-
For the sweet and tasty baked good whom good Pam Ford served before-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken taste uncertain rustling of each birthday fortune
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic flavors never had before;
So that now, to still the rumbling of my gut, I stood there mumbling,
“‘Tis some visitor with a treat knocking at my cubefarm door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my cubefarm door;-
This it is, and nothing more.”
Presently hunger grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your tasty treat I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my cubefarm door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”- here I stood there and implored;-
Carpet there, and nothing more.
Deep into that carpet peering, long I stood there wondering,fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no tummy 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, “Before!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Before!”-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the cubefarm turning, all hunger within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my cubey lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my gut be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
‘Tis a temp and nothing more.”
Open here I flung the butter, 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 cubefarm door-
Perched upon a golden statue just above my cubefarm 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 Day’s Birtdayian 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 blest with seeing bird above his cubefarm door-
Bird or beast upon the golden statue above his cubefarm door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the raven, sitting lonely on the small statue, 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, “more birthdays have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes of cake 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 contractor master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his works one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hunger with no birthday cake he bore
Of ‘Never- nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled an Aeron chair in front of bird, and bust and floor;
Then upon the netting 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 tummy’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the Aeron’s netting lining fluorescent light gloated o’er,
But whose Aeron’s netting lining fluorescent light gloating o’er,
cake shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by her or him whose footfalls tinkled on carpeted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from memories of cake before!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this cake before!”
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 high rise land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there food 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 tenth floor that bends above us- by that work we both abore-
Tell this soul with hunger laden if, within the distant daybreak,
It shall clasp a tasty baked cake whom the angels named before-
Clasp a sweet and tasty baked cake whom the angels ate before.”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting-
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Day’s Birtdayian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my hungerness unbroken!- quit the gold above my floor!
Take thy beak from out my gut, 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 on a golden statue just above my cubefarm floor;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my gut from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be filled up- nevermore!
