I’d been reading bits of Hemans,
And some leaves of Jacob Behmen’s,
Two or three—perhaps a score;
And I said—“It is a Raven
Rampant just outside the door—
Striding through,” I said—and swore.
I insisted, and I twisted,
And resisted and persisted
Though they held me and, close-fisted,
Saw no Raven at the door: