RAVEN LYRICS

THE RAVEN by Edgar Allan Poe

This page has the lyrics to numerous versions of the Raven. Beginning with the Traditional as originally published. Followed by various versions, or Riffs, from more modern inspired artists.
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- TRADITIONAL -

- LORD BUCKLEY -

- LOU REED -

- AMAZON MILK REVIEW -

TRADITIONAL
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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
            Only this and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
            Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
            This it is and nothing more.”

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
            Darkness there and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
            Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was 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 the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
            She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
            Shall be lifted—nevermore!
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LORD BUCKLEY
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The Bugbird (The Raven)

Richard "Lord" Buckley
M'Lords and Ladies of the Royal Court,
Edgar, the swinging Edgar Allen Poe's
magnificent torch, "The Raven,"
as translated into the semantic of the hip.

It's a Bugbird.
And like I say, Poe --
Eddie Allen Poe was a swinger.
He loved to en-joy that good whiskey
and chase them little ladies all over the place,
undstand what I mean?
Now, you see Poe didn't want that bird,
he didn't need the bird,
he didn't dig the bird,
he didn't send for the bird,
he didn't even know what aviary the bird came from.
If they've knocked the bird on him post paid
he wouldn't have dug it.
'Cause he was hung in front
for a chick by the name of Lenore,
who had already swoop the satellite.
But that didn't bug Eddie.
He's still knockin' that torch and coal on there,
say: "Can they see me in Flip City?"

But just like I say, so many times,
when you don't want the bird,
when you don't need the bird,
when you haven't got the first possible use for the bird,
vrrrrpppt, that's when you get it.
And that's what happened to poor Eddie.

I want you to picture that cat:
he's sitting in his pad, he's all spread out.
He's flipped, he's flapped, he's had it,
undastand what I mean?
He can't make it.
If he had it, he couldn't swing it
so he's sitting there goofing the cool,
ya see what I mean?

He say:

It was a real drug midnight
swoooooooooooooooah dreary
I was goofing
Beat and weary
Over many a freakish volume of forgotten score
When suddenly there came a tapping
As if some cat were gently riffing
Knocking rhythm at my pad's door.

Ah, "'tis the landlady," I muttered
On her broom she flies the rounding
Sounding for her rent
WHICH only this and nothing more

Ehh, ooh, will I ever get out of this feeling?
Emmm, emmmm,

Ah, so solid I remember,
It was in that wrought December
And it's swingin', jumpin' ember
Blew it's phantom upon the floor
Groovily I woo'd the morrow
Still hung I sought to borrow
From my book kicks
To knock the sorrow
Sorrow for my gone Lenore
For that sweet, square but swingin' maiden
Whom the fly chicks tagged Lenore
Nameless here forevermore

Oooh, man,

And the silky wear deturning [?]
Of each upper curtain
Moved me, hound me
With freakish flipples
Never dug before.
So that now to cool the beating of my ticker
I stood repeating, "'Tis some strange midnight stud
That's sounding a money beat on my pad's door.
A deuce to cool the morrow
Or some juice to drown his sorrow
Some lightweight riff this
And nothing more.
Jack!" I said, "Or Jilly, if I've crossed you.
Ha ha. Don't jump sore
For the solid truth is
This cat was napping
And so cool did you come tapping
And so light hip you came rapping
Rhythm at my pad's door
That I was scarce sure I dug you!"
Here I opened wide the slammer, Jack.
Swhoosh, I dug the breeze
And nothing more.

Ooh, what are they trying to do to me? I'll show them - what do they think about - get my way out of this - why they - uuumm, what was that? Look out, look out, look out! Take it easy, take it easy, take it easy, take it easy!

Stoned into the darkness peering
Long I stood there
I was hung there
Flipped and fitting
King spinning dreams
No mortal cat had ever rode before
But the gasser was unbroken
Diggin' so hard my wig was goin'
But nathin' shakin' nathin's sure
Just one radar blip was goin'
The whispered word: Lenore
This I sounded and it sounded back
Swoo-Swooooh, Lenore.
This one sad lick and nothing more

Oooh, why don't they leave me alone,
why don't they leave me alone?
They're draggin' me.

I backed into my pad
Still turning
All this jazz within me burning
And again I dug the tapping
A stronger beat then was before
"Unsolid hip," says I, "I don't dig
what that is jumpin in my window lattice.
Let me get hip what the rat is
And this big flip I will explore
Let my pounders stay cool [?]
And this flip I will explore"
swoo-shoo, Jack, I drew a blank
And nothing more.

Swhoooo - Who do they think they are to do this to me?!

Gone full out
I found the shutter
When with many a flip and flutter
In there stomped a king sized bugbird, Jack
From way back days of yore
Not a minute tipped or hung he
Not a minute brought or down he
But with stance of king and queen
He swung above my sweet pad's door
Lit upon the bust of Paris
Sat goofin' there and nothing more.

"Unsolid hip," said I, "That you're not craven
Gasser grim and beat up raven
Goofin for the night's Plutonian shore.
Swing hip me to what thy tag is
On the night's Plutonian shore."
Flip the bugbird, "Nothing more."

Solid wig me this bird to dig me
Though it copped out not upon the score
We cannot help it
Being that no single human being
Ever was so sent by seeing a wig like this
Above his pad's door
With such a tag as: Nevermore

Now you see this blasted bugbird came bugging Edgar
and gave him such a dreadful time of it
that Edgar now wants to divorce the bird.
He wants to expel the bird.
He doesn't care whether the bird knew Lenore,
Eleanor or any of these cats.
He wants to blow the bird.
So he -
I think the bird put one too many Nevermores on him.
I don't know how much they weigh
but it was just enough to flip that little Eisenglas
at the end of the fuse and vrrrpppppt,
blow the whole gig.
Poe is now flipping.
He looks at the bird and he says,

"By this lick you have flipped my meter
You nauseous gasser!
You endless repeater!
Screw before I blow my red hot stack!
Go back to your Plutonian shore
Leave no feather on my heather
Take your black jazz blown together,
Leave this pad my torch unbroken
Screw from the roost above my door!"
Flipped the bugbird, "Neezever Meezore."
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LOU REED
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Once upon a midnight dreary
As I pondered, weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious
Volume of forgotten lore
While I nodded, nearly napping
Suddenly there came a tapping
As of some one gently rapping
Rapping at my chamber door
"'Tis some visitor, " I muttered
"Tapping at my chamber door
Only this and nothing more."
Muttering I got up weakly
Always I've had trouble sleeping
Stumbling upright my mind racing
Furtive thoughts flowing once more
I, there hoping for some sunrise
Happiness would be a surprise
Loneliness no longer a prize
Rapping at my chamber door
Seeking out the clever bore
Lost in dreams forever more
Only this and nothing more
Hovering my pulse was racing
Stale tobacco my lips tasting
Scotch sitting upon my basin
Remnants of the night before
Came again
Infernal tapping on the door
In my mind jabbing
Is it in or outside rapping
Calling out to me once more
The fit and fury of Lenore
Nameless here forever more
And the silken sad uncertain
Rustling of the purple curtain
Thrilled me, filled me
With fantastic terrors never felt before
So that now, oh wind, stood breathing
Hoping yet to calm my breathing
"'Tis some visitor entreating
Entrance at my chamber door
Some lost visitor entreating
Entrance at my chamber door
This it is, and nothing more."
Deep into the darkness peering
Long I stood there
Wondering fearing
Doubting dreaming fantasies
No mortal dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken
And the stillness gave no token
And the only word there spoken
Was the whispered name, "Lenore."
This I thought
And out loud whispered from my lips
The foul name festered
Echoing itself
Merely this, and nothing more
Back into my chamber turning
Every nerve within me burning
When once again I heard a tapping
Somewhat louder than before
"surely, " said I
Surely that is something at my iron staircase
Open the door to see what threat is
Open the window, free the shutters
Let us this mystery explore
Oh, bursting heart be still this once
And let this mystery explore
It is the wind and nothing more
Just one epithet I muttered as inside
I gagged and shuddered
When with manly flirt and flutter
In there flew a stately raven
Sleek and ravenous as any foe
Not the least obeisance made he
Not a minutes gesture towards me
Of recognition or politeness
But perched above my chamber door
This fowl and salivating visage
Insinuating with its knowledge
Perched above my chamber door
Silent sat and staring
Nothing more
Askance, askew
The self's sad fancy smiles at you I swear
At this savage viscous countenance it wears
Though you show here shorn and shaven
And I admit myself forlorn and craven
Ghastly grim and ancient raven
Wandering from the opiate shores
Tell me what thy lordly name is
That you are not nightmare sewage
Some dire powder drink or inhalation
Framed from flames of downtown lore
Quotes the raven, "nevermore."
And the raven sitting lonely
Staring sickly at my male sex only
That one word
As if his soul in that one word
He did outpour, "pathetic."
Nothing farther than he uttered
Not a feather then he fluttered
Till finally was I that muttered as I stared
Dully at the floor
"other friends have flown and left me
Flown as each and every hope has flown before
As you no doubt will fore the morrow."
But the bird said, "never, more."
Then I felt the air grow denser
Perfumed from some unseen incense
As though accepting angelic intrusion
When in fact I felt collusion
Before the guise of false memories respite
Respite through the haze of cocaine's glory
I smoke and smoke the blue vial's glory
To forget
At once
The base Lenore
Quoth the raven, "nevermore."
"Prophet, " said I, "thing of evil
Prophet still, if bird or devil
By that heaven that bend above us
By that God we both ignore
Tell this soul with sorrow laden
Willful and destructive intent
How had lapsed a pure heart lady
To the greediest of needs
Sweaty arrogant dickless liar
Who ascribed to nothing higher
Than a jab from prick to needle
Straight to betrayal and disgrace
The conscience showing not a trace."
Quoth the raven, "nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting
Bird or fiend, " I yelled upstarting
"get thee back into the tempest
Into the smoke filled bottle's shore
Leave no black plume as a token
Of the slime thy soul hath spoken
Leave my loneliness unbroken
Quit as those have quit before
Take the talon from my heart
And see that I can care no more
Whatever mattered came before
I vanish with the dead Lenore."
Quoth the raven, "nevermore."
But the raven, never flitting
Still is sitting silent sitting
Above a painting silent painting
Of the forever silenced whore
And his eyes have all the seeming
Of a demon's that is dreaming
And the lamplight over him
Streaming throws his shadow to the floor
I love she who hates me more
I love she who hates me more
And my soul shall not be lifted from that shadow
Nevermore
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AMAZON MILK REVIEW
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Once upon a mid-day sunny, while I savored Nuts 'N Honey,

With my Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 gal, 128 fl. oz., I swore
As I went on with my lapping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the icebox door.
'Bad condensor, that,' I muttered, 'vibrating the icebox door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Not to sound like a complainer, but, in an inept half-gainer,
I provoked my bowl to tip and spill its contents on the floor.
Stupefied, I came to muddle over that increasing puddle,
Burgeoning deluge of that which I at present do adore -
Snowy Tuscan wholesomeness exclusively produced offshore -
Purg'ed here for evermore.

And the pool so white and silky, filled me with a sense of milky
Ardor of the type fantastic of a loss not known before,
So that now, to still the throbbing of my heart, while gently sobbing,
I retreated, heading straightway for the tempting icebox door -
Heedless of that pitter-patter tapping at the icebox door -
I resolved to have some more.

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
'This,' said I, 'requires an extra dram of milk, my favorite pour.'
To the icebox I aspired, motivated to admire
How its avocado pigment complemented my decor.
Then I grasped its woodgrain handle - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams of many Tuscans I had known before
But the light inside was broken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only words there spoken were my whispered words, 'No more!'
Coke and beer, some ketchup I set eyes on, and an apple core -
Merely this and nothing more.

Back toward the table turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

From the window came a stirring, then, with an incessant purring,
Inside stepped a kitten; mannerlessly did she me ignore.
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
But, with mien of lord or lady, withdrew to my dining floor -
Pounced upon the pool of Tuscan spreading o'er my dining floor -
Licked, and lapped, and supped some more.

Then this tiny cat beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grand enthusiasm of the countenance she wore,
Toward the mess she showed no pity, 'til I said, 'Well, hello, kitty!'
Sought she me with pretty eyes that seemed to open some rapport.
So I pleaded, 'Tell me, tell me what it is that you implore!'
Quoth the kitten, 'Get some more.'

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