The Raven
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 someone 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 marrow; --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 forevermore. 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 come 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 the darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing Doubling, 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!" 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 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 Raven of the Saintly days of
yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or
stayed he; But, with mein of lord or lady, perched above my
chamber door-- Perched upon my 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 Nights Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven,
"Nevermore."
Much I marveled 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, 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 than 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
stack 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 bosoms core; This
and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the
cushions velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated
oer, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light
gloating oer, She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen
censer Swung by Seraphin whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted
floor. "Wretch," I cried, "Thy God hath lent
thee-by these angels he hath sent thee Respite--respite and
nepethe from thy memories of Lenore, Quaff, oh quaff this kind
nepethe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven
"Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! Prophet
still, if bird or devil!-- Whether Temptest sent, or whether
temptest 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."
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!"
I shrieked, upstarting-- "Get thee back into the temptest
and the Nights plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a
token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my lonliness
unbroken!--quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my
heat, and Take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven
"Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting still as sitting, still as
sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demons that is
dreaming, And the lamp-light oer him streaming throws his
shadow over the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies
floating on the floor Shall be lifted-nevermore!