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Super Bowl Sentiments

The Browns Board
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  • 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 visitor,' 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 named 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 visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -

    Some late visitor 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 mortal ever dared to dream before;

    But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness 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 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, 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 this 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 above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

    With such name as `Nevermore.'

    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,

    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

    Nothing further 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 has 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 named Lenore -

    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'

    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `Be that word 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 hath 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 shadow on the floor;

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

    Shall be lifted - nevermore!

  • Note the Leslie Gore tune.

  • Has anyone been watching The Following on Fox Network....where the serial killer(s) have been basing their whole warped cult around Edgar Allen Poe material?

    Baltimore's influence at its finest?

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