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.’
I do not care for the grisly side of Halloween—slasher movies, chain saws, zombies, or even vampires. But a hint of something ‘tapping at my chamber door’ gives me a delicious thrill that makes me want to snuggle under the covers and wait wide-eyed for morning.
– here I opened wide the door; –
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
Just the idea of standing in a night shirt, vulnerable to the unseen, staring into the vacant blackness, and not knowing what is out there—now that is scary.
I confess, I like dinners by candlelight where friendly rooms retreat to shadows beyond the ring of light. I like ghostly pumpkins with melted wax dripping on my porch. I like the crunch of leaves under foot and old books that topple on shelves. I like the shadows of bare branches on my wall, and the contrast of black birds against gray skies, and old fashioned stories told at sunset.
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 thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’