These are two poems that struck me as good. The first is the famous poem by Edgar Allan Poe "The Raven". The second was given to me by my friend Danny. He himself did not write the poem, but We felt the poems were good. The poem is based on 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, but with a sadder note. We hope you enjoy them.
The Raven
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 mein of lord or lady, perched
above my chamber door--
Perched upon my 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
sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in
front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook
myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this
ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly,
gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no
syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned
into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my
head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the
lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the
lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser,
perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls
tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "Thy God hath lent
thee--by these angels he 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 Tempest 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!
T'WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE
MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE.
I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO
IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.
I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.
NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.
WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT
CAME THROUGH MY MIND.
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.
THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.
THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED
A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.
WAS THIS THE HERO
OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?
I REALIZED THE FAMILIES
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.
SOON 'ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.
THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.
I COULDN'T HELP WONDER
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.
THE VERY THOUGHT
BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES
AND STARTED TO CRY.
THE SOLDIER AWAKENED
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
SANTA DON'T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;
I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."
THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
AND SOON DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.
I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED
FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.
I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.
THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."
ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."
This poem was written by a
Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan. The following
is his request. I think it
is reasonable.....
PLEASE. Would you do me the kind favor of sending
this to as many people as
you can?
Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our U.S.
service men and women for our being able
to
celebrate these festivities.
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