October was passing quickly. The trees which had been brightly colored were now turning brown…
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,
As of someone 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 November,
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 loss of amor.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom I had lost–
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 mood grew stronger; hesitating 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 the darkness peering, long I stood there fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams that no man dared dream before.
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Who is there?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, “Who is there?”
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my emotions 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, glancing quickly with a flutter,
For the culprit who keeps tapping, rapping at my chamber door.
Faintly, I hear, the rustling of clothing, something moving, then nothing more.
Could it be someone playing, teasing, by tapping and running?
Lifting my mood, sunken, sullen and low, with a game of cunning.
Tis this and nothing more.
There, then, came giggling, a maiden laughing, from the darkness beyond.
“Who is there?” I cried out, “I hear you, you cannot abscond.”
“Could it be a neighbor, who has come, tapping, rapping at my chamber door?”
She appeared in the darkness, dressed in ebony, smiling, laughing, uttering,
“Tis I, and nothing more.”
Then this ebony maiden, beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Forgive my appearance, I am unshaven.” said I, “Thou art surely no craven,
But, a bold and brash lady, wandering from the nightly shore–
Tell me thy lordly name, I don’t believe we’ve e’er met before.”
Quoth the lady, “Raven, and nothing more.”
Much I marveled this lass, gainly; her grace, her smile, her voice so plainly,
“Tis a pleasant surprise,” I stated, “What purpose is your visit for?”
“I learned of your love’s demise,” she replied, “And came to offer you cheer.
To lift your spirits by playing, tapping, tapping on your chamber door.”
“My mood is low,” said I, “My hurt deep, painful, and sorrowful,
She is gone, forevermore.”
“I’ve been far too demure,” said I, “my melancholy was in need of a cure.
But I prefer to be alone. You would find me to be a bit of a bore.”
“My heart goes out to you,” said she, “this is a kind of pain not to ignore.”
“Are you certain,” she went on, “you wouldn’t need a new love to adore?
“Alone I shall be, forevermore.”
Raven stood there lonely, a good evening she said only,
And then she retreated, her return I hoped she repeated.
Then I returned to my reading, pondering, and soon was napping,
When there came more tapping, tapping, and then ringing.
My front doorbell was ringing, my patience slowly sapping.
I cried, “Nevermore.”
I flung open my chamber door, angrily demanding, a halt to this play,
But, there beyond, only the still, empty night called, chilling to the core.
Nature called, so to the lavatory I went for an interlude with my volume of lore,
When there came that infernal tapping, then ringing at my front door.
This is going to end, forevermore.
Hurriedly, I rushed into the night, presuming she gave flight,
When there she stood, laughing, beguiling my ire into smiling.
Then, telling me she wouldn’t mind if I warmed her behind.
Toward my chair I exerted a yanking, to administer a spanking,
Until she agrees, nevermore.
She assumed a position across my lap, and I began with a slap,
But, she let me know, it wouldn’t suffice to just mildly chastise.
I repeated with a hardy blow, adding more at a pace very slow.
Seated upon the velvet cushion, I spanker her o’er and o’er.
Quoth Raven, “Spank me more.”
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the lady whose fiery seat was now burning, throbbing and sore;
Could she be the one to replace a love that was lost before,
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining,
Then she cried again,
“Please, spank me, spank me more.”
My ire became more intense, and the air seemed to be dense,
As if perfumed from an incense, from where, we know not whence.
Finally, my arm became tired and worn, my mood, no longer forlorn,
Upon my lap she was seated, the spanking she wanted repeated.
Until the fire burned to the core, she wanted it o’er and o’er,
I replied, “No more, please, no more.”
“An evil temptress art thine, alluring me to spank your behind,
But, engaging in this erotic game, has relit a burned out flame.
My lonely world has been haunted, desolate, and yet undaunted,
A nepenthe to quaff, to quaff, my life to restore,
This I desire, forevermore.”
And Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
Upon the velvet cushion near, her face expressing no fear,
And her eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er her streaming, I now knew the score,
That I was the one she adored, so she bent over my knee eagerly,
Quoth Raven, “Spank me, my love, spank me more.”