The Ghost of My Lost Lenore It was a bitter and gloomy midnight, as I was thinking of the death of my lost Lenore. As I was nearly dozing off, I heard a beating on my mansion door. Then, vibrantly remembered that it was the bleakest time in December. Greatly, I mourned the loss of my love, Lenore. I sought for the morrow, which had never come so slowly. As the chandelier swayed side to side, my fear drew stronger. I began to speak to myself. I spoke, “Someone is knocking on my door! Who is it and why?” I knew I had to be brave and have courage, so I stood up and walked down the three flights of stairs. Very lonely in a huge house with the lights dimmed, I apologized for taking my time. As my hand slowly went to the door and opened it, not one soul was there. Then again, fear struck me clear to my soul. I was thinking things that had never been thought before, things of horror. In the silence, I spoke again. “Lenore?” I spoke, as it echoed back.
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I went back into the mansion again, and heard the knocking, but only louder this time. Then, I knew it had to be the window lattice. As I put my fear behind me, I sought for what was making the banging noise. Keeping calm, I spoke to myself over and over again. Still, I wasn’t calmed. “‘Tis the wind and nothing more, ‘Tis the wind and nothing more, ‘Tis the wind and nothing more…” Opening the window slowly, in flew a bald eagle. He perched there and stared at me for the longest of time, it could have been minutes, hours, I lost track of time. With the strange appearance of the eagle, it made me chuckle a bit. I decided to speak to it. “You,” I said, “are no coward. Scared old bird wandering along the cliff’s edge at night, tell me your name from the lower word of the dead.” “Nevermore,” said the bird, Bob. I was amazed that this unsightly bird could carry on a conversation, although what it said made little sense; everyone has to agree that no person had ever seen a bird sitting upon one’s door-- any animal at all, sitting above a sculpture over the door and with such a weird name. But this bird, sitting by itself on the peaceful sculpture, spoke only that one word and with great zeal. That’s all it spoke as it sat perfectly still. I said, “Other friends left me before, and tomorrow you’ll leave me too, just like my hope has left me as well.” Bob said, “Nevermore.” Being surprised by the bird’s response I replied, “most likely what it says is the only word in its vocabulary, learned from some unhappy owner who met with disaster after carrying a heavy burden-till his hope faded to despair from his sad burden.” “Nevermore,” the bird said, which began to become my funeral song. But with the eagle still deceivingly causing me to smile, I pushed a soft chair in front of the bird and sculpture and door; then as I sank down in the chair, I began to fantasize what the eerie bird of long ago- what this ghoulish bird of long ago went by singing. There I started guessing silently, to the bird which was now staring a hole through me; this and more I began to contemplate as I rested my head on the chains soft burning that the lamp lighted, but whose soft
I went back into the mansion again, and heard the knocking, but only louder this time. Then, I knew it had to be the window lattice. As I put my fear behind me, I sought for what was making the banging noise. Keeping calm, I spoke to myself over and over again. Still, I wasn’t calmed. “‘Tis the wind and nothing more, ‘Tis the wind and nothing more, ‘Tis the wind and nothing more…” Opening the window slowly, in flew a bald eagle. He perched there and stared at me for the longest of time, it could have been minutes, hours, I lost track of time. With the strange appearance of the eagle, it made me chuckle a bit. I decided to speak to it. “You,” I said, “are no coward. Scared old bird wandering along the cliff’s edge at night, tell me your name from the lower word of the dead.” “Nevermore,” said the bird, Bob. I was amazed that this unsightly bird could carry on a conversation, although what it said made little sense; everyone has to agree that no person had ever seen a bird sitting upon one’s door-- any animal at all, sitting above a sculpture over the door and with such a weird name. But this bird, sitting by itself on the peaceful sculpture, spoke only that one word and with great zeal. That’s all it spoke as it sat perfectly still. I said, “Other friends left me before, and tomorrow you’ll leave me too, just like my hope has left me as well.” Bob said, “Nevermore.” Being surprised by the bird’s response I replied, “most likely what it says is the only word in its vocabulary, learned from some unhappy owner who met with disaster after carrying a heavy burden-till his hope faded to despair from his sad burden.” “Nevermore,” the bird said, which began to become my funeral song. But with the eagle still deceivingly causing me to smile, I pushed a soft chair in front of the bird and sculpture and door; then as I sank down in the chair, I began to fantasize what the eerie bird of long ago- what this ghoulish bird of long ago went by singing. There I started guessing silently, to the bird which was now staring a hole through me; this and more I began to contemplate as I rested my head on the chains soft burning that the lamp lighted, but whose soft