In the darkest of our valleys
    By dark angels demented,
‘Twas once a regal temple -
    Serene spring - tauntingly tormented.
A Queen in her Domain,
    It stood there!
Under Lock and Chain;
    A maiden so fair!


Lavender curtains laden;
    On this Temple may flow
Along the Times of this Maiden -
    In the ****** snow.
And every gentle air in that field,
    Of Doomsday,
From the Black Rose’s shield -
    Their aroma passed away.


Witnessing this Ominous blolly;
    Through luminous windows -
Spirits sing in melancholy,
    In the malicious meadows.
Upon this throne I bore;
    A tintinnabulation of air -
Befitting glory’s chore,
    Of this realm’s affair.


With many a jewel gleaming,
    Against the Temple door -
The River’s light came beaming,
    Sparkling for evermore.
A troop of Angels; on their duty,
    At my doorbell, sing -
For the Silent beauty,
    Who burdens the King.


Then, the Reaper came,
    Along the Temple’s River -
For the distressed dame;
    And the sorrows within her quiver.
Above this temple of glory,
    Sagacious scenes bloomed -
Of the maiden’s story,
    The clergy that loomed.


Now; Within that valley -
    Through the reddened windows see,
Figures dancing delicately;
    To her disbanded melody.
The river - now a pale white,
    Is her decor,
Night’s sweetest silent fright -
    And flows - Nevermore.