Thread Whores

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

 

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

 

`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -

 

Only this, and nothing more.'

 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

 

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

 

Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow

 

From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -

 

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -

 

Nameless here for evermore.

 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

 

Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

 

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

 

`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -

 

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -

 

This it is, and nothing more,'

 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

 

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

 

That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.