Le Corbeau (Mallarmé) - Wikisource - 0 views
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Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
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And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
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Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
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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;
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But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
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Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
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Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
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For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
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But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
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Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before—
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Startled at the stillnes broken by reply so aptly spoken,
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Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
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But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
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This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
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And his eyes have all the seeming of a Demon's that is dreaming,
