But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'other friends have flownbefore-On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.'I really love this piece for its dynamism. Like how it seems to portray fragments of a moment in time; how the ink seems to portray a certain ominous event; how there's so little detail and yet it has so much of a story to tell...
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