onsdag, februari 26, 2014

republikanens dröm

"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; 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 Le(o)nore --- Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 'Le(o)nore?' This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 'Le(o)nore!' Merely this and nothing more. --- Prophet!” said I, 'thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore — Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maide whom the angels name Le(o)nore — Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Le(o)nore.' Quoth the Raven: 'Nevermore'.”

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