[ WP ] Write a poem that is desperately trying not to rhyme .

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and tired, 
 Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— 
 While I nodded, nearly falling asleep, suddenly there came a sharp repetitive sound, 
 As of some one gently rapping, knocking at my chamber door— 
 `` ‘ Tis some visitor,'' I muttered, “ tapping at my chamber portal— 
 Only this and nothing else. ” 
 
 & nbsp; 
 Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak January; 
 And each separate dying spark wrought its ghost upon the ground. 
 Eagerly I wished the dawn; —vainly I had sought to borrow 
 From my books surcease of sadness—sorrow for the lost Peggy— 
 For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Margaret— 
 Nameless here for evermore. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple drapery 
 Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors not felt before this; 
 So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood saying again and again, 
 `` ‘ Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door— 
 Some late visitor asking to be let through my chamber threshold; — 
 This it is and nothing else. ” 
 
 & nbsp; 
 Presently my soul grew less weak; hesitating then no longer, 
 “ Sir,'' said I, “ or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; 
 But the fact is I was sleeping, and so gently you came knocking, 
 And so faintly you came repetitively hitting my chamber entryway, 
 That I scarce was sure I heard you ” —here I opened wide the door; — 
 Darkness there and nothing else. 
 
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 Deep into that darkness looking, long I stood there wondering, afraid, 
 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; 
 But the silence continued, and the stillness gave no token, 
 And the only word there said was the whispered word, “ Peggy? ” 
 This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “ Margaret! ” — 
 Merely this and nothing else. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me on fire, 
 Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than the last time. 
 “ Surely,'' said I, “ surely that is something at my window lattice; 
 Let me see, then, what it could be, and this mystery put an end to— 
 Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; — 
 ‘ Tis the wind and nothing else! ” 
 
 & nbsp; 
 Open here I flung the window, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 
 In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of long ago; 
 Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute did he stop; 
 But, with mien of lady or lord, perched above my chamber door— 
 Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber entryway— 
 Perched, and sat, and nothing else. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into being a bit amused, 
 By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it had, 
 “ Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,'' I said, “ art sure not timid, 
 Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly coast— 
 Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night ’ s Plutonian shore! ” 
 Quoth the Raven “ No, never. ”
