404 Poem Explained
There have been some questions recently about the poem at the bottom of the pages of this blog. Have a read of the poem below, then read mine again.
THE RAVEN
by Edgar Allan Poe (1845)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word,
as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
n 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!
-- THE END --
THE RAVEN
by Edgar Allan Poe (1845)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word,
as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
n 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!
-- THE END --
posted by Catherine at 11:42
4 Comments:
I wrote this by rewritng lines from the Poe classic. If you want to use this, credit Ominous and, of course, Poe.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I net-surfed, weak and weary
over many a quaint and curious site to entertain and more
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a message,
It was something interrupting, messing up my games galore.
“'Tis my connection,” I muttered, “messing up my games galore,
Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
My skin was pale from absence of the sun from outside the door,
And each separate dying skin tone wrought its ghost just like a sore.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my net a cease of sorrow - sorrow for my lost tone or,
For the truly radiant video game, it was named “Good Gore,”
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain whirring of each computer chip
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I sat repeating
“'Tis just simply my connection messing up my games and more,”
“Some bad connection interrupting all of my games and more,
This it is, and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“MSN, or Netscape, truly your forgiveness I implore;”
But the fact is I was clicking, and so gently you came cutting,
And so faintly you came cutting, cutting off my games and more,
That I scarce was sure I heard you” - here I opened my folder;
Documents, and nothing more.
Deep into that folder peering, long I sat there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the folder gave no token,
And the only words there to read were the simple words, “no more!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, “no more!”
Merely this and nothing more.
Back onto the website turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a whirring somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something in Antivirus;
Let me see then, what therein is, and this mystery explore,
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;
'Tis the net and nothing more!”
Open here I clicked the folder, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately virus 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, went inside my games and more,
Perched upon a simple flash game just inside my C drive’s door,
Perched, and stayed, and nothing more.
Then the Trojan horse beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy code be wrote and all there, thou,” I said, “art sure no adware.
Ghastly grim and ancient virus wandering from the nightly shore,
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the game‘s unzipped code’s shore!'
Quoth my server, “404.”
Much I marveled this ungainly site 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 code above his C drive’s door.
Trojan curse above the flash game file inside his C drive’s door,
With such name as “404.”
But the virus, sitting lonely on the flash game file, wrote only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not one bad code then he fluttered,
‘Til I scarcely more than muttered “Other files have died before,
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have wished before.”
Then the site said, “404.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly written,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy hacker whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his code one burden bore,
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of the simple ‘404.’”
But the virus still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of virus, screen and more;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous code of yore,
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous code of yore
Meant in saying “404.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the code whose nonsense words now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, 404!
Then, I thought, the screen grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censor
Swung by Norton whose deletions hit upon the C drive door.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy geek hath lent thee - by these websites he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of game gore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost game gore!”
Quoth the server, “404.”
“Trojan!” said I, “thing of evil! - Trojan still, if code or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all unloaded, on this humble drive encoded,
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore,
Is there - is there data in here? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the server, “404.”
“Trojan!” said I, “thing of evil! - Trojan still, if code or devil!
By that world wide web above us - by that geek we both adore,
Tell this soul with sorrow covered if, within the distant dumpster,
It shall clasp a saintly game of whom the angels named ‘Good Gore’
Clasp a truly saintly game of whom the angels named ‘Good Gore?’”
Quoth the server, “404.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, viral fiend!” I shrieked upstarting,
“Get thee back into the tempest and away from my drive’s shore!
Leave no code left as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the drive in my own home!
Take thyself from out my heart, and take thy form out my front door!”
Quoth the server, “404.”
And the virus, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the driver I call C in my computer‘s store;
And his code has all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And Norton who tried to kill him was broken to fix no more;
And my soul from out that website that made my server up and soar
Forever will scream- 404!
Very nice poem and explanation. I want to recite this on my radio show on Sunday.
Dan Herman
Radio Crystal Blue
www.radiocrystalblue.com
I don't see why not. As long as everyone is credited that should be..! Computer and internet security and a lack of general knowledge of it is quite a hot topic, I understand.
Cool, very informative!! I like this very much....
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