Ashleigh Woolf ‘19
Between Two Worlds: The Raven’s Point of View ‘Twas a frigid night in that late hour, As I circled on high, a tapestry of spires and chimney pots laid out below, Searching, searching for the house of sorrow. Silently did I come a-tapping, then louder, urgently! more! One last message between worlds to deliver before the light: Mortal haste is of no consequence to Eternal Time; If not tonight, another moment will come a-calling. Presently a spectre glared from the open window, expecting ghosts. Gliding on the winds of surprise, I settled on a velvet chair and struck a Lordly pose. The man, his face ashen, shrank away, distrustful of his vision as I spoke. “You wonder me ghost or ghoul? You may fear my presence, but I have a message from . . . Lenore.” His shaking hands raw boned-knuckle-gripped the wooden chair, Rattling the silence of his response, yet still, no words were forthcoming. “If you have no want to hear, I will take my leave of you, sir.” He gasped, then a gritted-teeth utterance: “Nevermore!” “Sir, let me assure you that your radiant love hath indeed sent me.” A shadow of hesitation crossed his brow, but he leaned, entranced, toward me. “We have much in common, you and I, we admirers of rare beauty. Our souls uplifted by her feather touch. But while I am released from a life of Purgatory, You, you are wandering damned in the Darkness of Despair. I lie in her soft caress.” “Nevermore!” hissed his contorted countenance. Up! Up I flew lest he lunge at me violently! “I came for her, not you, you vile creature, With her delicate touch I will rise above my lowly station.” He slumped, slack-armed, defeated, staring at me perched on Pallas. Unable to smirk, I allowed for an arrogant pause. “Lenore fears for you, that you shall forever be lost to her.” “Nevermore!” quoth the coward, his fiery yellow eyes glaring.
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