All are not with megrims laden, still the future holds its Aidenn,
For brave youth and beauteous maiden; prophets have been wrong before,
Generally are, in fact; why can’t they learn, and cease to bore?”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore!”
“Then, look here! we’d best be parting, croaking fowl!” I cried, upstarting,
“You had better find your way to some Fools’ Paradise’s shore!
Leave no feather as a token of the rubbish you have spoken,
Leave my lonely rest unbroken, quit that bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my sight, and take thy blackness from my door!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore!”