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THE RAVEN - THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH - THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO
THE RAVEN - THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH - THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO EDGAR ALLAN POE October 1997 [Etext #1063]*
THE RAVEN
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 some one gently rapping rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter" I muttered "tapping at my chamber door--
Only this and nothing more."
Ah 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 name Lenore--
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 visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then 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 that darkness peering long I stood there wondering fearing
Doubting dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken and the stillness gave no token
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word "Lenore?"
This I whispered and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!"--
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning all my soul within me burning
Soon again I heard a tapping something 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 when with many a flirt and flutter
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he
But with mien of lord or lady perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched and sat and nothing more.
Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou" I said "art sure no craven
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly
Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven sitting lonely on that placid bust spoke only
That one word as if its soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken
"Doubtless" said I "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never--nevermore.'"
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim ungainly ghastly gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery 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 lamp-light gloated o'er
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er
She shall press ah nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch" I cried "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I "thing of evil!--prophet still if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore
Desolate yet all undaunted on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly I implore--
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
"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--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if within the distant Aidenn
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
"Be that our sign of parting bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
And the Raven never flitting still is sitting still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadows on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!
The Masque of the Red Death
by Edgar Allan Poe
October 1997 [Etext #1064]*
The Masque of the Red Death
The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No
pestilence had ever been so fatal or so hideous. Blood was its
Avatar and its seal--the redness and the horror of blood. There were
sharp pains and sudden dizziness and then profuse bleeding at the
pores with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and
especially upon the face of the victim were the pest ban which
shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men.
And the whole seizure progress and termination of the disease
were the incidents of half an hour.
But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious.
When his dominions were half depopulated he summoned to his
presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the
knights and dames of his court and with these retired to the deep
seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive
and magnificent structure the creation of the prince's own
eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in.
This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers having entered
brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They
resolved to leave means neither of ingress nor egress to the sudden
impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply
provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid
defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of
itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve or to think. The
prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were
buffoons there were improvisatori there were ballet-dancers
there were musicians there was Beauty there was wine. All these
and security were within. Without was the "Red Death".
It was towards the close of the fifth or sixth month of his
seclusion and while the pestilence raged most furiously
abroad that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends
at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.
It was a voluptuous scene that masquerade. But first let me
tell of the rooms in which it was held. These were seven--an
imperial suite. In many palaces however such suites form a long
and straight vista while the folding doors slide back nearly to
the walls on either hand so that the view of the whole extent is
scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different as might have
been expected from the duke's love of the bizarre. The
apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced
but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at
every twenty or thirty yards and at each turn a novel effect. To
the right and left in the middle of each wall a tall and narrow
Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the
windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose
colour varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the
decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the
eastern extremity was hung for example in blue--and vividly blue
were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments
and tapestries and here the panes were purple. The third was
green throughout and so were the casements. The fourth was
furnished and lighted with orange--the fifth with white--the sixth
with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black
velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the
walls falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material
and hue. But in this chamber only the colour of the windows
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Unpublished Work 
