The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
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EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General)Transcript
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the rave in my ECA on oh, Once upon a midnight dreary while I pondered weak and weary over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten law while I nodded nearly napping. Suddenly there came a tapping a Z, if someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door to some visitor, I muttered, tapping at my chamber door. Only this nothing more 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 named Lenore, nameless here for evermore on 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 is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door. This it is and nothing more Presently, my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer, sir, I said, Madam, truly your forgiveness. I am full. But the fact is I was Nothing is so gentle. You came rapping and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door that I scarce was sure I heard you your wide the door darkness there and nothing more deep into the darkness peering long ghost of there wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams No mortal ever dared to dream. Before that the silence was broken and the stillness gave no token. And the only word they're spoken was the whispered word thiss, I whispered, and an echo moment back the word really this and nothing more back into the chamber turning my soul within me burning soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before. Surely I said, Surely that is something at my window that is Let me see then what thereat is and this mystery explore that my heart be still a moment And this mystery explore is the wind and nothing more open here. I flung the shutter when, with many of Burton flutter in there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he not a minute stop for stately, but with mine of Lord or lady perched above my chamber door pushed above my bust of Pallas just above my chamber door. First incident. Nothing thin, this ebony bird beguiling, my said fancy into smiling by the grave and stern decorum of his countenance. A war over Crest be shorn and shaven. Now I said Art Sure. No. Craven, ghastly, grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore. Tell me what a lordly name is on the nights. Plutonium. Sure with Raven never more much eye level, this ungainly fowl. To hear disco so plainly, though, is answer little meaning With Morello. Bessie Ball Way cannot help agreeing that no living human being ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door. But our beast above the sculpted bust above his chamber door with such a name, a CE, never more. But the raven, sitting lonely on his pass above, spoke only that one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour nothing father than he did not have better than he flirted till I scarcely more than muttered other friends of mine before on the morrow. He will leave me as my hopes of line before, and the birds never more startled it is stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken doubtless said I what it it is, is It's only stock in store called from some unhappy master whom Unmerciful disaster followed fast and followed faster till his songs. One burden bore till the dirges of his Folkman. That melancholy burden bore. I have never, never more but raiding, still beginning on my Cecil into smiling straight, I wield a cushion, a seat in front of burden Busted door. Then, upon the velvet sinking, I took myself to linking Fancy into fancy thinking. What this ominous bird of yore. What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gone, too ominous bird of yore, Menting, croaking, nevermore This I sat engaged in guessing, with no syllable expressing to the values fiery eyes now burned into my bosoms core. This and more. I saw divine ing with my head. It ease reclining on the questions well but lining that the lump like quoted or but he's velvet by the lining with the lamplight gloated oer Jeez, Charlie Crist. Never more than we thought. The angry dance of birth name with some unseen census, one by serve them whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. Wretch, I cried. I got have plenty by these angels. He had sympathy despite rest, fight and the healthy from thy memories of Lenore. But off this kind of Penn State. And forget this lost Lenore Raven. Never more perfect that I think of evil prophet Still, if bird or devil whether tempter sent or whether Tempest tossed thee here ashore, desolate yet all undaunted in this desert land enchanted on his own, my honour. Haunted. Tell me, truly I implore Is there is there balm in Gilead? Tell me. Tell me. I implore with gravy. Never more 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 No, this soul with sorrow laden If within the distant Aden it shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore passed the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named the nor with raven nevermore be that word Our sign of parting bird off beamed I shrieked up Starting Get me back into the tempest and the night's plutonium shore Be no black plume as a token or that light I sould have spoken Leave my loneliness unbroken. Quit the bust above my door like beak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door was raven nevermore and the raven, never flitting still is sitting still is sitting on booth list just above my chamber door 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 soul From out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted.