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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 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
ring of lore--
For the rare and radiant gold band whom the demons bring
to Mordor--
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;--
Gandalf there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there
wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals 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,
"Ring of lore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Ring of lore!"--
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me
burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
"Surely," said Gandalf, "surely that is something at
your window lattice;
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 he flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt
and flutter,
In there flopped a stately hobbit of the saintly days
of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped
or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord r lady, perched upon my chamber
floor--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber
floor--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this Sam Wisegamji beguiling my sad fancy into
smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he
wore,
"DO not turn me into something abnormal," he said, "art
sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient gardener wandering from the
Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy heard upon the lips of our coversation!"
Quoth the hobbit, "end of the world andnothing more!"