Henry N. Beard

“The End of the Raven"On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slantingI awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for.Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven,Poe was talking to a Raven perched above the chamber door.'Raven's very tasty,' thought I, as I tiptoed o'er the floor.'There is nothing I like more.'[...]Still the Raven never fluttered, standing stock-still as he utteredIn a voice that shrieked and sputtered, his two cents' worth -- 'Nevermore.'While this dirge the birdbrain kept up, oh, so silently I crept up,Then I crouched and quickly leapt up, pouncing on the feathered bore.Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore --Only this and not much more.”
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