rpolson [2007-03-18 06:34:55 +0000 UTC]

Wow, you are crazy good!
Waiting for your next work!


--
adult comics :: xxx comics :: sex comics :: free gary roberts comics

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

Hyrenblade [2005-07-04 05:59:23 +0000 UTC]

WTF DID YOU DIE?????

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

InsidiousZero [2005-06-19 19:36:00 +0000 UTC]

H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petun

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

InsidiousZero [2005-06-19 19:35:01 +0000 UTC]

H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petunia.
Pet: I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!
Ver: Hurry up! Bring my coffee boy!
H: yes Uncle Vernon.
Pet: Aren't they wonderful darling?
Dud: How many are there?
V: 36, Counted them myself.
Dud: 36?! BUT LAST YEAR LAST YEAR I HAD 37!!!
V: Yes, but some of them are a bit bigger than last year's!
Dud: I don't care how big they are!
Pet: Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. Is that when we go out we're going to buy you 2 new presents. How's that pumpkin?

Pet: It should be a lovely day at the zoo. I'm really looking forward to it.
V: I'm warning you now boy. Any funny business, any at all and you won't have any meals for a week. Get in.

Dud: Make it move.
V: Move.
Dud: MOVE!
H: He's asleep.
Dud: He's boring.
H: Sorry about him he doesn't understand what it's like, lying there day after day watching people press their ugly faces in on you. Can you hear me? It's just I've never talked to a snake before. Do you… Do you talk to people often? You're from Burma, aren't you? Was it nice there? Did you miss your family? I see. That's me as well. I never knew my parents either.
Dud: Mummy, Dad, come here you won't believe what this snake is doing! Woah! Woah! Ah!
Snake: Thanks.
H: Any time.
Oth: Snake! Ahh!
Dud: Mum! Mummy! Help me!
P: My darling boy! How did you get in there! Who did this? How did you get in there? Is there a snake?

- - - - -
P: It's all right sweetheart. We'll get you out of these terrible clothes.
V: What happened?
H: I swear, I don't know! One minute the glass was there then it was gone, it was like magic!
V: There's no such thing as magic.

V: Oh Marge is ill. Ate a funny whelk.
Dud: Dad! Look! Harry's got a letter!
H: Hey give it back! It's mine!
V: Yours? Who'd be writing to you?

V: No more mail through this letterbox.

Pet: Have a lovely day at the office, dear.
V: Shoo! Go on!

V: Fine day Sunday. In my opinion best day of the week. And why is that Dudley?
H: Because there's no post on Sundays.
V: Right you are Harry. No post on Sunday. Ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir! Not one single bloody letter! Not one! No sir, not one blasted, miserable- -
Dud: Make it stop, please!
V: Stop it!
Dud: Mummy what's happening?
V: Give me that! Give me that letter!
H: Get off! They're my letters! Let go of me!
V: That's it! We're going away, far away! Where they can't find us!
Dud: Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?
- - - - -
H: Make a wish, Harry.
V: Who's there?
Hag: Sorry 'bout that.
V: I demand that you leave at once. You are breaking and entering.
Hag: Dry up Dursley you great prune. Well, I haven't seen you since you was a baby Harry. But you're a bit more along then I would have expected; particularly around the middle.
Dud: I'm not... I'm not Harry.
H: I am.
Hag: Well of course you are! Got something for you. Afraid I might have sat on it at some point but I imagine it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself, words and all.
H: Thank you!
Hag: It's not everyday your young man turns 11 now it is?
H: Excuse me, but who are you?
Hag: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Of course you know all about Hogwarts
H: Sorry, no.
Hag: No? Blimey Harry didn't you ever wonder didn't you ever wonder how your mum and dad learned it all?
H: Learned what?
Hag: You're a wizard Harry.
H: I'm a what?
Hag: A wizard. And a thumpin' good one I'd wager once you've trained up a bit.
H: No, you've made a mistake. I mean I can't be a wizard... I mean I'm Harry, Just Harry.
Hag: Well, "Just Harry" did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain, when you were angry or scared? Um Hum.
H: Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
V: He will not be going! We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to all of this rubbish!
H: You knew? We knew all along and you never told me?
Pet: Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect being who she was. Oh I remember the day she got her letter. My parents were so proud. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was… a freak. And then she met that Potter, and then she had you and I knew you would be the same just as strange just as abnormal. And then, if you please, she got herself blown up, and we got landed with you.
H: Blown up?! You told me my parents died in a car crash!
Hag: A car crash? A car crash killed Lily and James Potter?
Pat: We had to say something!
Hag: It's an outrage. It's a scandal.
V: He will not be going.
Hag: Oh and I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop him.
H: Muggle?
Hag: Non- magic folk. This boy's had his name down since he were born. He's going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. And he'll be under the finest headmaster that Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore…
V: I will not pay to have some crack pot old fool teach him magic tricks!
Hag: Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me… I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at Hogwarts about that. Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do magic.
H: OK
Hag: We're a bit behind schedule. Best be off. Unless you'd rather stay, of course.
Continue...
I wanna go back!H: Harry; D: Dunbledore; Hag: Hagrid; Mc: McGonagall; Pet: Aunt Petunia; Ver: Uncle Vernon; Dud: Dudley;
Gob: Goblin; Oth(s): Unknown(s)/ extra(s); R: Ron Weasley; HG: Hermione; Mrs. W: Mrs. Weasley, P: Percy;
Snake: Snake from zoo Q: Quirrell; Tom: Bartender from the Leaky Cauldron; Griphook: Goblin from Gringotts; Olli: Ollivander;
G: George Weasley; F: Fred Weasley; Ginny: Ginny Weasley; N: Neville; SH: Sorting Hat;
M: Draco Malfoy; SF: Seamus Finnigan; Sir N: Sir Nicholas (Nearly-Headless-Nick); S: Severus Snape;
MH: Madame Hooch; F: Filch; OW: Oliver Wood; Fl: Professor Flitwick; Pic: Picture on a Hogwarts wall;
FL: The Fat Lady; *: Not positive who; Fil: Filch; HogGos: Hogwart Ghosts; V: Voldemort
Underlined: Book title; Italics: Spell

D: I should've known you would have been here Professor McGonagall.
Mc: Good evening Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumors true Albus?
D: I'm afraid so Professor. The good and the bad.
Mc: And the boy?
D: Hagrid is bringing him.
Mc: Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid w/ something as important as this?
D: Ah, Prof. I would trust Hagrid w/ my life
Hag: Professor. Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.
D; No problems I trust Hagrid?
Hag: No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol. Try not to wake him. There you go.
Mc : Albus, do really think it's safe leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. There're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are- -
D: The only family he has.
Mc: This boy will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name.
D: Exactly. He's far better off growing up away from all of that. Until he is ready. There, there Hagrid. It's not really goodbye after all. Good Luck, Harry Potter.

- - - - -
Pet.: Up. Get up! Now!
Dud: Wake up cousin! We're going to the zoo!
Pet: Here he comes the birthday boy!
Ver: happy birthday son.
Pet: Why don't you just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything.
H: Yes Aunt Petun

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

Makola [2005-06-03 03:08:40 +0000 UTC]

hey man, welcome back! how was your vacation? 8D

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

InsidiousZero [2005-06-02 20:20:42 +0000 UTC]

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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!
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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!
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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!
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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!
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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!
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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!
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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!
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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!
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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!
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 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 forevermore.

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 e

👍: 0 ⏩: 1

Makola [2005-05-14 21:56:26 +0000 UTC]

Hit me up when you come back dude ^^

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

BadMediCynInc22 [2005-05-05 04:57:16 +0000 UTC]

Your pictures kick maximum ass! . . .: ]. . .

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

akina-speed-stars [2005-05-02 06:52:15 +0000 UTC]

Hey! this is for the club you joined. I need you to fill this out:

User name:
Real name:
Bio:
Favourite car:

You can respond by sending a note to the Akina Speed Stars or Cloudstrife676

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

akina-speed-stars [2005-04-30 00:00:47 +0000 UTC]

You are now a member of the Akina Speed Stars

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

Hyrenblade [2005-04-27 22:49:30 +0000 UTC]

Ah ha ha!!! Spiritus Robertus capit!!! Ha ha ha a !!!

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

lxl-Cally-lxl [2005-04-25 21:13:27 +0000 UTC]

you now hyrenblade? he is a weirdo...just so ya know btw nice art

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

Sparda2k [2005-04-20 22:53:21 +0000 UTC]

yea i'm with the zero ur not 16 lol

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

InsidiousZero [2005-04-18 17:52:57 +0000 UTC]

Rob dont lie, we all know you're not 16... thats why your voice still sounds like mickey.

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

InsidiousZero [2005-04-13 18:14:30 +0000 UTC]

Favourite band or musician: Dashboard Confessional, my band, Queen, Eagles

to be fair, you yourself said that you dont even HAVE a "band", as did Andrew.

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

sweetyt [2005-04-13 15:28:56 +0000 UTC]

*glomps* Sankies for the comment and fave~!!

👍: 0 ⏩: 1

NakedMoleRat [2005-04-13 02:33:58 +0000 UTC]

Hey, thanks for the watch!! You still up to being added to the NMR Club?

👍: 0 ⏩: 1

artununos-k2 [2005-04-11 16:33:14 +0000 UTC]

Hey there! thanks for the comment and adding me to your friends list!

👍: 0 ⏩: 1

taoidmhear [2005-04-11 03:15:33 +0000 UTC]

thank you so much for your comments, advice and watch. Thank you, I have an old account with alot more writing, but I thouught I needed a new face.

👍: 0 ⏩: 1

silentvoyces [2005-04-04 23:31:27 +0000 UTC]

Thank for the watch! OMG SO MUCH POE!!!! AHHHH *runs away* ........ *runs back* ok im better, but thanks and ur drawings are very very good. arg, darn you people with talent!!! ah well forums are always open to me!
thanks again!

👍: 0 ⏩: 1

EriolGaurhoth [2005-04-02 18:00:50 +0000 UTC]

This is by far the longest comment page I've ever seen. You win first prize.

👍: 0 ⏩: 1

InsidiousZero [2005-03-29 21:26:20 +0000 UTC]

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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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

👍: 0 ⏩: 1

InsidiousZero [2005-03-29 21:26:07 +0000 UTC]

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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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

👍: 0 ⏩: 0

InsidiousZero [2005-03-29 21:25:58 +0000 UTC]

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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!

































































































































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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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 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 the 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 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."

Thus 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, O 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 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 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!















































excellent....

--
A deer dance
Invitation to peace
War staring you in the face
Dressed in black
With a helmet, fierce
Trained and appropriate
For the malcontents
For the
Disproportioned malcontents 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 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 forevermore.

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 the 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