Quoth the Raven, "No, Don't!"

Once upon a midnight dreary, sat myself and fair Lenore upon a bench, from a long walk we both were weary. Tenderly, our hands against one another’s, did we hold each other, hers so soft and warm. Alone we sat, on that cold night, with stars and moon above, and alone we spoke, so quietly it would not seem the hearing of our words we were capable of. Yet distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December when I asked her for her hand.

“Fair Lenore,” I softly spoke, “oh, rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—may I ask of you a favor, so my heart burns no more?”

And through the night of deepest black, came a response I would not have guessed, “No, don’t!”

Only this, and nothing more.

Startled, from her hand I took my own. “Maiden, dear, what’s this you speak? Such cruel and unwanted speech! What could you possibly mean by telling me, ‘No, don’t’?”

“Sir, I beg you,” said the angel, with eyes as innocent as day, “it was not me that spoke to you in such a way. It was not me, dear one! Tell me, please, your favor dear and if it’s in my want to complete, rest assured I will not fail!”

Puzzled and yet gratified, again I took her hand. “Lenore,” I said, “sweet maiden fair! With you I know gladness more than I can bear. I would ask of you just one question, and with its answer I shall know utter misery or utter happiness. I cannot wait a second more, and swiftly I shall ask it!”

Softly spoken through the darkness, came the words, “No, don’t!”

Angered now, I started up, my foot upon the gravel falling. “Wicked woman!” I enjoined. “Do not torment me with your teasing! What can you mean, ‘No, don’t,?”

My lady, standing, her fair head shaking, begged of me, “Do not be angry, sir! It was not me that said, ‘No, don’t!’”

“Then faithfully you wish to hear the question I have come to ask?”

“Truthfully, sir, it is all I ask.”

Pacified once more, again we sat, and taking up her angelic hand, I wasted time no more. “Oh maiden whom the angels name Lenore, won’t you be with me now, forevermore?”

And the darkness quoth, “No, don’t!”

My fair Lenore, with cheeks bright red, jumped from the bench as if struck with dread. Looking deep into the Night’s Plutonian shore, she yelled, “Who is tormenting us? Where is this voice? It is not I, and I do not share its thoughts! Show yourself, devil or prophet, that I may see the spirit which is content to ruin my happiness.”

Through the starlight came the words, “No, don’t!”

“Yes, I entreat you, yes! Come forward!” cried my fair Lenore. And with her parasol in hand, the angel shook her fist at the deep and untouched night.

“Lady, dear,” I softly spoke, holding her fingers in a gentle stroke. “Do not heed the voice of night. ’Tis some childish prank—a foolish child—only this, and nothing more.”

Upon the bench seat sinking, my Lenore gave into smiling. “You are right, good sir. Only this, and nothing more. Tell me truly, husband wanting, is it that question you are pondering? Shall I be yours from this day on and till forevermore?”

Once more our ears caught the words, “No, don’t!”

Ignoring the words that vexed us greatly, “Yes, Lenore, yes!” I exclaimed most stately. And rising from our seats once more, into the other’s arms we fell.

“Then truly, sir, I will indeed, be your wife if you my husband be.”

Yet somewhere in that dark night cold, a voice cried out, its words of woe. And faintly did we hear its call as it sang out, “No, don’t!”

My lady wept, she beat my breast, her angel fists the gentlest weapons. Yet each blow tore my heart for I could sense that those two words were still beguiling all her fancy into whining. “Do not speak thus, oh, you wretched man!” she shrieked against my chest. “Do not tell me it was child’s play and nothing more, for in that voice I hear your own. What have you meant in croaking, ‘No, don’t’?”

“Maiden whom the angels name Lenore, listen well, for lies I tell no more. I spoke nothing—nothing!—in the night that would so cause you to moan. Wipe your eyes, I implore!”

So beginning, my entreaties to obey, the fair Lenore could scarce take breath before that dread which both we feared spoke again, its message clear: “No, don’t!”

Silently we stood, our gazes searching through the night of ebony, yet nothing did we see. “What could that voice be,” whispered Lenore, “that haunts us with such a frightful taunt as ‘No, don’t’?”

Thus we stood engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing, nor did that fell voice came telling its tormented, “No, don’t!”

“Perhaps,” I hazarded, “the wind in trees, the starlight’s voice which tells us so, ‘No, don’t.’”

“Or better still,” Lenore spoke bravely, “let us this place depart, so we shall hear its voice never—oh, nevermore!”

Quoth the darkness, “No, don’t!”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! Prophet still, if not a devil! Darkened words you speak to us, yet never will you cause our hearts to fall. We will not heed your desperate cry, your wanting grief, your horror spoken. We shall leave, despite your plea, and never hear you, nevermore!”

Quoth the darkness, “No, don’t!”

Then my saintly maiden, her heavenly grace forgetting, flung herself into the dark, her fair voice shrieking, “Be those words our sign of parting! Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no whisper as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave our happiness unbroken! Quit the night of darkest black, and let us live as husband and wife.”

But through the night, my angel’s tantrum, all that answered was two words spoken, “No, don’t!”

Quitting that most horrid park and shunning all that dwelled in that dark, myself and my maiden whom the angels name Lenore, heard that voice once more. And never did we learn the source of that most haunted, “No, don’t!”