The Crow

Edgar Allan Poe

Corvo, Pássaro, Black, Animal, Natureza


Translation by Milton Amado


Once upon a time: I reflected, at midnight, dark and bleak,
Reading doctrines from another time in very curious manuals,
And, exhausted, almost asleep, I suddenly heard a noise,
Just as if someone was knocking on my door, slowly.
“It is someone, I was murmuring, who knocks at the door, slowly;
Yes, that’s it and nothing more. ”
Ah! clearly i remember it! It was freezing December
And the fire, agonized, animated the floor of ghostly shadows.
Longing to see the night ended, in vain, reading, I still sought
Some remedy to the bitter, endless, atrocious longing for Lenora
This one, more beautiful than the dawn, whom in the skies they call Lenora
And there’s no name here anymore.
The red silk of the curtain gasped in a dismal mute,
Shivering and evoking ignorant sepulchral fears.
In fright, in a palpable arrhythmia, the fast heart beat
And to calm him down, I repeated: “He is a visitor and asks for shelter.
Arriving late, a friend is knocking and asks for shelter.
It’s just that and nothing more. ”
I got up afterwards, and calmly, without hesitation, I said:
“Forgive me, madam, or my lord, if there is much out there waiting for me;
But it was that he was asleep and the beat was so weak,
That I could barely hear someone calling at my door,
So lightly, in dead time. ” I will then open the door wide:
Darkness, and nothing more.
I scanned the quiet and peaceful night, I looked deeply, searching it,
Dreaming dreams that no one, no one dared to dream the same.
Overwhelmed with longing and fear, before the still and falling blackness,
I only heard one name (I said it almost secretly) and it was: “Lenora!”
And the echo, in an evocative voice, repeated it also: “Lenora!”
Then silence and nothing more.
With my soul in fever, I again entered the room and, suddenly,
Stronger, the noise starts again and reverberates in the stained glass.
“It’s in the window”, I think then. “Why stir me up in distress?
Keep calm, heart! It is in the window, where, ominous,
The wind blows. It is only from the wind this dull and ominous rumor.
It is the wind alone and nothing more. ”
I open the window and behold, in turmoil, fluttering, a figure penetrates:
It is a hieratic and superb Crow, egressed from ancestral ages.
As a nobleman passes by, august and, without even noticing my fright,
Adeja and lands on the bust, a sculpture by Minerva,
Right over the door; and is preserved there, in the bust of Minerva,
Perched and nothing more.
Upon seeing the solemn figure of the austere and dark bird,
A light laugh awakens in me, distracting me from my woes.
“Without a crest though, O ancient and singular Raven”, then I tell you
“You are not terrified. Talk to me, soul of the night, dark specter! ”
What is your name, O noble Crow, your name in the dark hell! ”
And the Crow said, “Never again.”
I was amazed that a rude bird of that class spoke,
Mysterious black sphinx, retorting me in such terms;
For I never knew of any living being, before or in the present,
What an equal surprise to try: to find, at your door,
A bird (or beast, it doesn’t matter), perched on its door
And call it “Never again”.
Several things did not say, there, the dark bird,
With the whole soul mirroring those fatal syllables.
Then I murmur, seeing her calm and without moving a single feather,
While hurt hurts me: “Friends? they always go away.
Like hope, when dawn comes, he will also go away. ”
And the Crow said, “Never again.”
Silence, with such a nexus, this answer that, perplexed,
I judge: “That’s all he says; two words always the same.
I heard about them from an owner who tortures a relentless misfortune
And who, full of bitterness, only has a ritornelo
From your singing; of dead anelo, an epitaph: the ritornelo
“Never, never, never again”.
As the Raven changed my sad face in a smile,
I then swiveled in a chair, in front of the bust, the bird, the doorposts
And, immersed in the cushion, I started to inquire (because, for me,
It aimed at some secret end) that the old Crow intended,
With what intentions, horrendous, grim, this ominous and ancient Raven
He always quacked: “Never again.”
Feeling of the bird, incandescent, my eyes stare at me,
I was amazed, absorbed and dumb, in conjectural deductions.
Schismus, his forehead reclined, resting on the pillow
From that velvety armchair where the light falls gently,
From that chair where she, absent, in the light falls gently,
No longer resting, ah! Never?
The air then seemed thicker and more fragrant, like incense
There they descended to sprinkle celestial turibularies.
“Mísero !, I exclaim. Finally your God gives you, sending his angels,
Oblivion, from heaven, to miss Lenora,
Sip it nepentides. Sip it, now! Forget it, forget that Lenora! ”
And the Crow said, “Never again.”
“Prophet!? cry? O being of evil! Prophet always, infernal bird
That the Tempter threw out of the abyss, or that thunderstorms threw,
From some shipwreck, to this damned and barren land, to this need
Horror mansion, that horror inhabits, I beg you, tell me, in truth:
Is there a balm in Galahad? Beg! Tell me, truly! ”
And the Crow said, “Never again.”
“Prophet!” I exclaim. “O being of evil! Prophet always, hellish bird!
By the high sky, by this God who love all mortals,
Speak if this soul under the atrocious guinea of pain, in distant Eden,
You will see the shining goddess whom in heaven they call Lenora,
This one, more beautiful than the dawn, who in the heavens is called Lenora! ”
And the Crow said, “Never again!”
“Let this be our farewell! I rise and cry, soul on fire.
Back to the storm again, to the black infernal dens!
Not even a light feather from you is left here, let such a lie prove it!
Leave me alone in this wild wilderness! Take your flight from that door!
Remove the claw that cuts my chest and go out of that door! ”
And the Crow said, “Never again!”
She stayed! Straight, gloomy, I still see him today, for hours on end,
On the target bust of Minerva, inert, always on my threshold.
In his ghastly and enormous gaze, the angel of evil, in dreams, sleeps,
And the light from the lamp, misshapen, casts its shadow on the ground.
In it, which waves over the alfombra, is my soul; and, stuck in the shade,
There is no need to get up, alas! never!

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