Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more."
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.
.....Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more......
Edgar Allan Poe 1845
Blood red napkin rings.. creepily ensnaring the white napkin below the neck
Gothic black flatware with which to dine
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
I see a spider has taken a liking to Lucrezia's crystal goblet
Even a spot for the poet should he choose to grace us with his presence
A bit of blood red drink to wet your whistle
The blood red drinks flash their glow onto the mirrored placemats
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight 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!
Tablecloth and napkins - hotel linens
Napkin rings - World Market
Dinner plate - Midnight Trellis by Home Essentials
Salad - Matceramica, Portugal
Flatware - Horchow
Crystal - Mikasa Parklane
Mirrored Placemats - gifts from MIL approx 33 years ago
Bottle candleholders - Napa Style
Bottles - McPherson Cellars, Lubbock, Texas
Crows, Spanish moss, spiders - Dollar Tree
Small pumpkins place card holders - Michaels
Poetry - Edgar Allan Poe