Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Yesterday, January 19, 2010, marked Edgar Allen Poe's 201st birthday.
Each year on this night an unknown pilgrim leaves roses and a half-drunk bottle of cognac on Poe's grave, earning him the name 'Poe toaster.'
The tradition has remained unbroken for 60 years.
This year, the Poe toaster failed to come.
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 mein 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.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
'Though they 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 they lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'
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