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- Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
- Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
- As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
- "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
- Only this and nothing more."
- 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 name 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."
- 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 my chamber door,
- That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;—
- 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 stillness gave no token,
- And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
- This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"—
- Merely this and nothing more.
- Back into the chamber 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 thereat 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 Raven of the saintly days of yore;
- Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
- But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
- Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
- Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
- Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
- By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
- "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
- Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
- Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
- Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
- Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl 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 bird above his chamber door—
- Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
- With such name as "Nevermore."
- But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
- That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
- Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
- Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—
- On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
- Then the bird said "Nevermore."
- Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
- "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
- Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
- Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
- Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
- Of ‘Never—nevermore'."
- But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
- Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
- Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
- Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
- What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
- Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
- This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
- To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
- This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
- On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
- But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
- She shall press, ah, nevermore!
- Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
- Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
- "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
- Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
- Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
- Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
- "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
- Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
- Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
- On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
- Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
- Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
- "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
- By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
- It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
- Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
- "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—
- "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
- Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
- Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
- Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
- Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
- And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
- On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
- And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
- And the lamp-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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