Classic Poem

Still beside that dreary water
Stood he 'neath the cold moon ray
Thinking on the deed of slaughter
On his heart that darkly lay.

Soft the voice that broke his dreaming
Stealing through the silent air;
Yet, before, the raven's screaming
He had heard regardless there.

Once his name was sweetly uttered,
Then the echo died away,
But each pulse in horror fluttered
As the life would pass away.