Oh, melancholy child of want and woe!
A brilliant meteor in an ebon sky!
Thy soul's weird music all did flow
From heart-strings touched by destiny!
The Raven, perched above thy chamber door,
Responsive croaked with a prophetic word--
For in the realm of song may "Nevermore"
Such strains as thine by mortal ear be heard!
Where now doth that proud spirit dwell,
Whose earthly days were clouded o'er with gloom?
In regions with the sweet-voiced "Israfel,"
Where never-fading flowerets bloom?
Dost rest within some "distant Aidenn,
Beyond the Night's Plutonian shore?
And clasp again a sainted maiden
Whom the angels name Lenore?"
Yes, "echo through the corridors of Time"
Will have a tone that ages yet will know,
And blend with all that's beautiful--sublime--
The deathless name of Edgar Allan Poe!