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A quaint and curious lore
A midnight dreary
Weak and weary
A quaint and curious lore
Nearly napping
There came a tapping
Rapping at my door
The silken rustling of purple curtain
terrors felt before
Still the beating heart, I stood
Some visitor at my door
Into darkness peering
I stood there fearing
Dreams no mortal dream before
Silence unbroken Stillness no token
The whispered word, “Lenore?”
The chamber turning, within me burning
A tapping louder than before
“surely,” said I
My heart be still
“Tis the wind and nothing more.”
* harvested from “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe for the blackout poetry competition
Weak and weary
A quaint and curious lore
Nearly napping
There came a tapping
Rapping at my door
The silken rustling of purple curtain
terrors felt before
Still the beating heart, I stood
Some visitor at my door
Into darkness peering
I stood there fearing
Dreams no mortal dream before
Silence unbroken Stillness no token
The whispered word, “Lenore?”
The chamber turning, within me burning
A tapping louder than before
“surely,” said I
My heart be still
“Tis the wind and nothing more.”
* harvested from “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe for the blackout poetry competition
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