The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe, simplified by park.
‘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 maiden whom the angels name lenore’
quoth the raven, nevermore.
Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door!
take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
and the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming.
and the lamplight over him streaming
throws his shadow on the floor
and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
shall be lifted