hylian42

I present to you
my haiku adaptation
of Poe's "The Raven".


One cold, dark midnight,
while poring over my books,
I heard a knocking.

I was near asleep;
the sound startled me. I woke
and felt a cold fear.

I said to myself,
"It is just a visitor.
This, and nothing more."


It was December.
Dying embers in the hearth,
for the night was cold.

Sleepily I read,
wishing the morning to come
and ease my sorrow —

sorrow for my love,
whom the angels named Lenore,
who rests evermore.


The sounds of the night,
silken curtains rustling,
filled me with terror.

To still the beating
of my heart, I repeated,
"Just a visitor,

entreating entrance
into my chamber. Only
this, and nothing more."


My resolve grew strong;
so I arose, and I said,
"Kind sir, or madam,

I beg your pardon.
But I was napping, and so
quietly came you,

I scarcely heard you —"
here I opened wide the door —
darkness, nothing more.


Long I stood, staring
into the darkness; fright'ning
dreams filled up my head.

The darkness stared back,
but gave no token, no sign,
of what it contained.

I whispered, "Lenore?"
And the darkness echoed back.
Just this; nothing more.


Then I turned away,
all my soul burning inside.
Then I heard again,

tapping, louder now.
"Surely, " I said, "that's something
outside the window.

I'll see what it is.
Be still, my heart! 'Tis only
the wind, nothing more!"


I pulled the shutters.
In a flurry of feathers,
a raven flew in.

The stately black bird,
without the least obeisance
nor hesitation,

flew into the room,
perched on the bust o'er my door,
and sat. Nothing more.


The sight of the bird,
with his grave, stern decorum,
brought me a small smile.

And I said to him,
"Thou art surely no craven,
thou bird of the night.

Pray, tell me thy name!"
And the bird opened his beak
and croaked, "Nevermore."


I marveled at this,
to hear the fowl speak so plain,
Though his words meant naught.

For you can be sure
that never before has there
been such a strange bird,

who perches upon
a pallid bust of Pallis,
who's named Nevermore.


But he said no more,
sitting lonley on the bust
o'er my chamber door.

Then under my breath,
I muttered, "He'll soon leave me.
Other friends have flown,

and hope escaped me.
Come morrow, he'll leave me, too."
He spoke: "Nevermore."


Such an apt reply,
it startled me to hear it;
though his words meant naught.

For that single word
must have been his only stock;
perhaps he learned it

from some poor master
whose ill fortune brought him to
lament, "Nevermore."


But, the bird's presence
still allowing me to smile,
I pulled up a chair.

I pondered the bird,
this grim, gaunt, and ungainly
black raven of yore,

and what it had meant
by croaking its single word,
saying "Nevermore."


And as I sat there,
his firey eyes burned deeply
into my bosom.

But I said nothing
to him, my head reclining
in velvet cushions;

whose velvet lining
my love's head shall rest upon,
alas, nevermore.


With that thought, it felt
as if the air grew denser;
a weight fell on me.

I said to myself,
"Thou wretch! Thy god hath sent thee
respite, relief from

mem'ries of Lenore.
Thou can forget her!" Quoth the
raven, "Nevermore."


I looked to the bird,
hope rising within my soul,
and sought an answer.

"Tell this soul, laden
with sorrow, haunted with grief,
of my destiny.

Is there peace ahead?
Is there balm in Gilead?"
Said he, "Nevermore."


I looked to the bird,
hope falling within my soul,
and begged an answer.

"Tell this poor soul, if,
within the distant Aidenn,
it shall clasp again

the sainted maiden
whom the angels named Lenore!"
Said he, "Nevermore."


"Let that word be our
sign of parting, thou devil!"
I shrieked, upstarting.

"Fly back to the night.
Leave no plume as a token
Of that lie thou spake!

Get thee off my door.
Leave me in my misery!"
Said he, "Nevermore."


The raven still sits
upon the bust of Pallis
o'er my door today.

Never does he budge,
his cold gaze ensaring me
in a daemon's spell.

And my lonely soul
from out of that spell shall be
lifted — nevermore!