But I had no dying ember, as Poe had; when near the door,
Like a gastronomic goblin just beside my chamber door,
Stood a bird,—and nothing more.
And I said, for I’m no craven, “Are you Edgar’s famous raven,
Seeking as with him a haven—were you mixed up with Lenore?”
Then the bird uprose and fluttered, and this sentence strange he uttered—
“Hang Lenore,” he mildly muttered; “you have seen me once before,
Seen me on this festive Christmas, seen me surely once before.
I’m the Goose,”—and nothing more.
Then he murmured, “Are you ready?” and with motion slow and steady,