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 visiter,' 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 visiter 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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