Edgar Allen Puck

[AquaPython]

i came across some creepy literature for you all:

The Hawk

Once upon a midday dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten whores --
While I throttled, nearly knee-slapping, suddenly there came a yearning,
As of some one gently burning, burning for my knee puck's core--
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "yearning for my knee puck's core --

Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I'll remember soon, it was in the bleak June;
And each separate dying gnat wrought its ghost upon the SV's Fore.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; -- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my mind's surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Kneeore --
For the rare and radiant knee puck whom the angels name Kneeore --

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each leafy meat 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 duuude entreating ownership of my knee puck's core --
Some late duuude entreating ownership of my knee puck's core; --

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 Turning, and so gently you came yearning,
And so faintly you came burning, burning for my knee puck's core,
That I scarce was sure I heard you " -- here I opened wide the engine's bore; ----

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, low I leaned there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the engine hummed unbroken, and the swiftness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Kneeore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Kneeore!" --

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the road's camber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a yearning somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my Velcro stitching;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore --
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--

'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the throttle, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there flapped a stately Hawk of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a second swooped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my knee puck's core --
Perched upon a mass of leather, just above my knee puck's core --

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this brownish bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be naired and balked, thou," I said, "art sure no stalk,
Ghastly grim and ancient Hawk wandering from the Noonday shore --
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Day's Carolinian shore!"

Quoth the Hawk "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird steal his knee puck's core --
Bird or beast upon the sculptured leather above his stolen knee puck's core,

With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Hawk, sitting lonely on the placid leathers, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered -- not a feather then he fluttered --
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before --
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the swiftness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore --
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of 'Never -- nevermore'."

But the Hawk still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and leather and knee puck's core;
Then, upon the Velcro sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I rode on engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery beak now burned into my thigh as it tore;
This and more I rode divining, with my hand at ease caressing
On the cushion's Velcro lining that the puck once presided o'er,
But whose Velcro black lining where the puck once presided o'er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen passer
Swung by Michelin whose tire-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite -- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Kneeore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Kneeore!"

Quoth the Hawk "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil! --
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this mountain land enchanted --
On this home by Horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --
Are there -- are there twisties at the Gap? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"

Quoth the Hawk "Nevermore."

"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 Robinsville,
It shall clasp a sainted puck whom the angels name Kneeore --
Clasp a rare and radiant puck whom the angels name Kneeore."

Quoth the Hawk "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting --
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Day's Carolinian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the leather above my missing knee puck's core!
Take thy beak from out my thigh, and take thy form from over my missing knee puck's core!"

Quoth the Hawk "Nevermore."

And the Hawk, never flitting, still is swooping, still is swooping
On the pallid knee of AGV just above my missing knee puck's core;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the headlamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted -- nevermore!