Paean Of Lenore

Avaunt the caliginous shadow of grim sorrow,
By the tenfold spectres of thy mortal surcease,
Haunting then thy drooping soul of the morrow,
Singing the phantom dirge of thy vile decease.

O my poor Lenore, thou art my virginal maiden,
Who I have sought through the wrought earth, 
From Lethe onto the dim halls of Hades laden,
With souls of a draconian and Plutonian dearth.

A thousand times, I had summon'd thee before,
Awaiting thy grateful return in a dubious haven,
In the depth of this lorn heart of mine I deplore,
When I harken'd the caws of the guiltless raven.

I have follow'd his ominous croak and his gaze,
That led thee onto the tenebrous vague gloom,
With an ineluctable vagary of a perpetual maze 
Of thy torment'd despair of the token of doom.

Now, I sing the eternal paean of love and glee,
In the empyrean winds that blow upon the dew,
Upon my winsome guise as I stood behind thee, 
I had whisper'd Lenore, Lenore, 'tis I Guy anew.

Let us rejoice in the untaint'd mirth and gaiety,
In the chambre of divinity my ceaseless bride,
Amidst the hymns of praise from the pious laity, 
While thy spirit is blest by the seraphim who glide.