The Raven
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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 named 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 darkness 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 above 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 further 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 sad soul 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 has 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 named Lenore -
- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named 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!
by Edgar Allan Poe