The Masque of the Red Death

The Masque of the Red Death
by Edgar Allan Poe, Illustrated by Duncan Long

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore – For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore – Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, ’tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door – Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is, and nothing more. 

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