Technically Speaking

Once upon an evening dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many familiar market charts of downtrends seen before.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the third floor door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at the third floor door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I recall, the year was deep into the fall,
And each separate fluorescent wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my charts surcease of sorrow from the marketplace of yore -
For the rare and radiant market whom bear analysts adored-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the reflecting sad uncertain of the windows without curtains
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 the third floor door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at the third floor door -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at the third floor door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' -hence I looked out across third floor -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only words there spoken was the whispered words, "bull spoor!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, "bull spoor!'"
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into my cubicle turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what the threat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately longhorn, and its yoke upon it wore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my bookshelf store-
Perched upon a bust of Ursa just above my bookshelf store-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this grayish bull beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy hide be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient longhorn wandering from the trading floor -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the longhorn, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly beast to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing beast above his office floor-
Beast or fowl above the sculptured bust above his bookshelf store,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the longhorn, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he spoke - he just sat there with his yoke -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other trends have gone before -
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the beast said, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if beast or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
In this uptrend horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there a hope of hedge funds selling? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the longhorn, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if beast or devil!
By that bell that marks the open - by the chaos we both adore -
Tell this soul engulfed in sorrow if, somewhere in far Chicago,
It shall see a vaunted downtrend like has not been seen before -
See a rare and decisive downtrend with markets crashing through the floor?'
Quoth the longhorn, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, beast or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no dung pile as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my bearishness unbroken! - quit the bust above my bookshelf store!
Take thy hoof from out my heart, and take thy form from off my floor!'
Quoth the longhorn, `Nevermore.'

And the longhorn, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Ursa just above my bookshelf store;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the sickly-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

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