Once upon a midnight dreary, while I wandered, drunk and
weary,
Over many a quaint and dimlit alley of forgotten doors—
While I plodded, barely standing, suddenly I heard a
chanting,
As of someone softly ranting, ranting from the darkened
doors.
“It’s some other drunk,” I muttered, “chanting from the
darkened doors—
Only this
and nothing more.”
Only vaguely I remember, for I’d been on quite a bender,
And each alleyway I entered left me lost more than before.
Wishing that the night weren’t over, vainly I had bought an
Uber,
Then I walked away more sober—sober for my lost liqueur—
For the sweet and fervent ferment that the brewers name
liqueur—
Shameless here
forevermore.
And the windy, winding backstreets, when I left behind the
taxi,
Filled me with bewilderment—I’d never seen those streets
before!
So that now, to get my bearings, I had stopped and stood
there staring
At my phone as I was hearing whispers from the darkened
doors.
“Just some other drunk I’m hearing whisper from the darkened
doors—
This is all
and nothing more.”
Now I felt the foolish courage of the drink, and thus
encouraged:
“Asshole!” I cried out, “or Madam… show yourself now, I
implore!
Walking home and barely standing, I can hear you back there
ranting
At a whisper, almost chanting, chanting from the darkened
doors—
I can hear you sneaking back there”—and I squinted at the
doors.
Darkness
there and nothing more.
In that drunken stupor, peering, I stood listening though
not hearing,
Dreaming dreams of all the sweetened whiskeys I had drunk
before,
And it was three in the morning, so the whiskey wasn’t
pouring,
But I thought I felt the warming of a sip of a liqueur.
So I swallowed, but I tasted just the whispered word,
“Liqueur!”—
Merely this
and nothing more.
Down another alley turning, all my thirsty soul was
yearning,
When I caught a glimpse of something glinting on the cobbled
floor.
“Surely,” said I, “on the cobbled pavement that must be a
bottle!”
So I stumbled and I hobbled to investigate it more—
“Don’t be empty,” I implored as I investigated more—
This I said
and nothing more.
Reaching down now to the pavement, I picked up a flask of
fragrant
Whiskey which was labeled “Raven” from the good ole days of
yore;
Not a moment had I waited, not a second longer wasted,
Than I popped the lid to taste it on the street of darkened
doors—
Popped the lid and took a swig there on the street of
darkened doors—
It was air
and nothing more.
Then this fragrant bottle raising my drunk brow into
amazement,
I began to shake it and could hear the liquid that it bore.
“Though you taste of air insipid, I can feel you’re full of
liquid,”
Said I, and I tried to sip it but it baffled me once more.
“Tell me what the hell you are—this isn’t funny anymore!”
Quoth the
Raven, “Nevermore.”
I was shocked to hear an answer from this spiritless
decanter,
Though it made no sense to me, for who had heard of that
before?—
No one else was there to hear it, but who’s heard of any
spirit,
Any brandy, beer or claret, any vodka or liqueur,
From a label called “The Raven”?—who has heard of a liqueur
With a name
like “Nevermore”?
But the Raven in my fingers didn’t flinch, but ever
lingered,
Speaking only that one word, as if that word were all it
poured.
Nothing more came from that cistern, not a drop and not a
whimper,
Till I scarcely more than whispered “Other flasks have
drained before—
This one likewise must have emptied, as my Hopes have
drained before.”
Then the
flask said “Nevermore.”
Startled by the words it uttered, I replied with slurs and
stutters,
“Doubtless that response must be the only draught that it
can store.
Some unhappy alcoholic must’ve felt the pain of colic
From imbibing all the tonic which this dire bottle bore—
Till the ballad of his Hope was but a promise that it bore:
‘Not
ever—nevermore.’”
But the Raven flask still raising all my brow into
amazement,
Now I stopped and took a seat upon the curbside in a court;
Then, upon the concrete sinking, I abandoned hope of drinking;
It was then I got to thinking what this teasing flask of
yore—
What this gross, ungodly, gustless, glass, and teasing flask
of yore
Meant in gasping
“Nevermore.”
Thus I sat and thus I reckoned, while the ghostly bottle
beckoned
Me to take another mouthful of the aether at its core.
This and more I speculated, though I was inebriated.
Roadside lamps illuminated the liquescent smoke it stored—
But the evanescent texture and the airy taste it stored,
I would know, ah, nevermore!
Then I thought the stuff grew denser, as if poured from some
dispenser
Tipped by waitresses whose footfalls clicked upon the
cobbled floor.
“Sot,” I cried, “my God has meant me to imbibe this flask he
sent me—
Let it be that dear nepenthe from my memories called
liqueur;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and retrieve my lost
liqueur!”
Quoth the
Raven “Nevermore.”
“Sorcerer,” I said, “you tempt me!—tempt me still, if full
or empty!—
Whether someone dropped you here or you were blown here by a
storm,
More than just a mere decanter, you’re some mystical
enchanter—
With your curt and cutting candor, tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there
sweetened liquor?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the
Raven “Nevermore.”
“Sorcerer,” I said, “you tempt me!—tempt me still, if full
or empty!—
By that god of grapes and wine who makes us merry on the
floor—
Tell this thirsty, drunken heathen if, within the distant
Eden,
He again shall ever even sip the potion called liqueur—
Sip the sweet and potent potion of ambrosia called liqueur.”
Quoth the
Raven “Nevermore.”
“By that word may you be shattered, flask or fiend!” I
shrieked, now madder—
“Go on back to where you came from, whether Hell or other
shores!
Leave me no deceptive omen! Leave behind your airy potion!
Leave my wretched thirst unbroken!—break yourself upon the
floor!
Take your opening from my mouth, and smash yourself upon the
floor!”
Quoth the
Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, always tempting, still is empty, still is empty—
In my fingers’ desperate grip as desperation grips my core;
And that bottle has the seeming of a vessel that is teeming,
Full of alcohol and gleaming like a golden sweet liqueur;
And my soul within that bottle that lies floating in liqueur
Shall
imbibe it—nevermore!
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