Poe psychics

The Poe House is inviting prominent psychics to try and contact the spirit of Edgar Allan Poe. (Algerina Perna, Baltimore Sun / January 19, 2011)

Sorry, psychics. I saw in The Baltimore Sun this week that you're going to try to contact Edgar Allan Poe from beyond the grave next month. Nice idea, hope it makes some money to save his house.

But I beat you to it. I stopped by Westminster Hall this week, and while he sends his regards and says he'll be happy to talk to you when you call, the Poester had something to say now. After what happened a week ago, he revised his most famous poem, and asked me to share it:

The Ravens

Once upon last Sunday dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

Over how Cundiff could miss and Evans did not score,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my rowhouse door.

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my rowhouse door —

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak Foxborough,

With fourth quarter near over and victory so surely in store,

But instead, unfairly, did come such defeat! Vainly I sought to borrow

From the replays, the surcease of sorrow — sorrow for lost Baltimore,

For the city with football fans of such fealty, oh poor Baltimore,

Despair here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple banner

From windows, on streets, a city had dared dream like never before.

Too soon would it be to gaze upon that, I turned deaf to the rapping,

"Begone," I cried out. "No visitors tonight, I must implore,