The Raven Beacon

The Raven Beacon

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 crying,

As of some one gently sighing, sighing at my chamber door.

"'Tis the Beacon," I muttered, "crying through my chamber door —

Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I recall I was standing in the hall,

And each separate plaintive cry 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 sleep and snore

—For the rare and radiant dreaming whilst I used to sleep and snore—

No longer here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of the bed sheets, for certain,

Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,

"'Tis the Beacon wide awake, entreating my entrance at my chamber door

—Some late baby entreating my entrance at my chamber door; —

This it is, and nothing more.

"Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Beacon," said I, "or Baby, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came sighing,

And so faintly you came crying, sighing 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 that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only sound there spoken was the whispered sound, "Snore"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the sound, "Snore!" —

Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a crying somewhat louder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that is something outside 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, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there slept a stately Beacon of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched in sleep beyond my chamber door

—Perched upon a pack n play just beyond my chamber door —

Perched, and sleeping, and nothing more.

Then this sweet baby girl beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the sweet and quiet decorum of the countenance she wore.

"Though thy face be sweet and sleeping, thou," I said, "art sure not awakened,

Sweetly slumbereding little Beacon rolling during your Nightly snore

—Tell me what thy business is during this endless Night's chore!"

Quoth the Beacon, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this ungainly Baby to hear discourse so plainly,

Though her answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blest with seeing Baby talking in her sleep beyond my chamber door

—Sweet little one sleeping just beyond my chamber door,

With such name as "Beacon" stating "Nevermore!"

Nevermore is sleep to be anything but luxury!

Nevermore a quiet night!

Nevermore place dreaming!

Just the Beacon awake and screaming!

Awake and screaming keeping me from dreaming keeping me from sleeping in and keeping you awake forevermore!

But the babe, sleeping then sitting in the pack n play, spoke only

That one verse, as if her soul in that one word she did outpour.

Nothing further then she uttered— not a hand or hair did flutter —

Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other children have slept before —

On the morrow she will sleep for me, as my hopes have flown before."

Then the Beacon said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what she utters is her only stock and store,

Caught in some unhappy dreaming, though unmerciful she's seeming, awoke fast and cried faster till her songs one burden bore

—Till the dirges of my Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of 'Never — nevermore'."

But the Beacon still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of babe, and pack and play and door;

Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous Beacon of yore —

What this grim, ungainly, prospect this ominous babe of yore

Meant in crying "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the babe whose sweet eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,

She shall fall back asleep!

Ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Beacon," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels He hath sent thee

off to dreamland He hath sent thee both to sleep and then to snore!

Quoth the Beacon, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "sweet sleeping babe! — prophet still, if babe or angel!

—Whether sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate for sleep yet all undaunted, this sweet land your have enchanted

This home by sleepless horror haunted—

tell me truly, I implore —Is there - is there sleep to be had? — tell me — tell me, I implore!"

Quoth the Beacon, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "sweet thing, my love-

By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted slumber before the rooster crows--Before!

Quoth the Beacon, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, babe or Beacon," I shrieked, upstarting —

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no sweet smile as a token of that awake-ness thy eyes hath spoken!

Leave my quite slumbering time unbroken!— quit the sitting and the crying, crying through my chamber door!

Take thy hand from off my heart, and take thy form from off my breast!!"

Quoth the Beacon, "Nevermore."

And the Beacon, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pack and play sheet just beyond my chamber door;

And her eyes have all the seeming of a baby that's done dreaming,

And the lamplight o'er her streaming throws her shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted — and sent to sleeping

Nevermore!