Books, The Raven & Other Poems and Tales by Edgar Allan Poe

 

The Raven & Other Poems and Tales bookThe poem “The Raven” published by Edgar Allan Poe back in 1845 is one of my favorites. The author orphaned at the age of two in Boston lived a short life dying at the age of forty in 1849. Even though his poetry and short stories never received the popularity they did until after he was gone, I believe have now found their place in literature.

This week it was my good fortune to discover in a thrift store a hardback book compiled in 2001 by Bullfinch Press/Little, Brown and Company that I purchased for only twenty cents.  Inside this book I found the full version of “The Raven” along with many other stories written by Poe, i.e. “The Black Cat” – “The Pit and the Pendulum” – “Annabel Lee” and “The Fall of the House of Usher.” All the illustrations inside this wonderful book are by Daniel Alan Green.

Below is the poem, The Raven, for your reading. You did know “Tis the wind and nothing more”  – didn’t you?

 

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

 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 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 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 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 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 blest 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 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 fancy 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 lamplight gloated o’er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls 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 word our sign in 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 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 – nevermore!

 Written by Mary Gilmartin, June 9, 2014

Touring Historic Pensacola Village

My recent travels through Florida took me to Historic Pensacola Village. I first arrived at the Trivoli House that was originally a boarding and gaming house back in 1805. Across the street I found the Lavalle House (1805), Manuel Barrios Cottage (1888), Lear-Rocheblave House (1890), Dorr House (1871)and Old Christ Church (1832) with guided tours inside.  Taking a self-tour of the Museum of Industry (187o) was a real treat. The sites, history and art with attractions surrounding this gulf coastal town with miles of white beaches is an interesting place to visit.

1-historic Pensacola2-historic Pensacola3-historic Pensacola4-historic Pensacola5-historic Pensacola6-historic Pensacola7-historic Pensacola8-Historic Pensacola

Written and Photographed by Mary Gilmartin, May 21, 2014

Mother’s Day 2014

The White and Red Rose”:  Mother’s  Day014-copy was the one day that was very special for me when I was a little girl  because my mother would ask me to go outside and pick only two roses from her rose bushes. One was a red rose and the other was a white rose. On her dress, she would pin the white one and to my dress she would pin the red one. When we arrived at church, the congregation blossomed with other members wearing their white rose or their red rose. I will always remember this Southern tradition.

 w-rose

This year is now the fifth year that I will be wearing the “white rose”, but I will always cherish the memories of those  years when I could wear the red rose.

In memory of my mother, I  think of you often and especially on Mother’s Day when you pinned that red rose on my dress all those years when I was growing up.

 

Written and Photographed by Mary Gilmartin, May 09, 2014

 

First day of Spring 2014

Today, March 20th, is the first day of Spring. My walk through the woods; and, then,  in front of the carving in Stone Mountain Park, made me realize that winter is over when I see flowers in bloom and trees sprouting their first leaves.
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4In one section of this park are the following two statues. If you like to read about history, please check out my posting on this link to learn more about these 2 statues that reside on the Memorial Lawn.

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“Valor” is the name of this statue8

“Sacrifice” is the name of this statue.

Written and Photographed by Mary Gilmartin, March 20, 2014

Charlie and Marley, The Bearded Dragons

August of 2013 is when my grandson received his first pet, a Bearded Dragon that he named “Charlie.”

Charlie Portrait of Bearded Dragon copyright

  Now, eight months later, there is a new pet addition. Her name is “Marley” and she is Charlie’s new roommate. She loves to crawl around and explore her new surroundings.

Marley, the Bearded Dragon copyright

Here’s a photograph of Charlie and Marley, side by side, getting some sun in one of their favorite chairs.

Charlie and Marley copyright

It looks like it’s feeding time for these two bearded dragons. Charlie doesn’t mind eating the Freeze-Dried Crickets but, Marley is picky about what she eats and decides to hide.  I wonder if she is vegetarian.
A 7-year olds pet, Bearded Dragon copyright

Written and Photographed by Mary Gilmartin, March 10, 2014

Books, The Root Cellar

While sorting through some of my paperback books trying to decide what to keep and what to discard I came across one of my daughter’s favorite books to read when she was 12-years old.  In fact, it also became of my favorite books for that age group.  I think the back cover of this book gives a great overview about the story.

This book, The Root Cellar by Janet Lunn, will definitely go back on my shelf to keep.

Root Cellar by Janet Lunn Front Cover1

Root Cellar by Janet Lunn BackCover2

Written by Mary Gilmartin, February 28, 2014