| 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; |          5 | 
|     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, |   10 | 
| 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 |   15 | 
| " '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; |   20 | 
| 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, |   25 | 
| Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals 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. |   30 | 
|    | 
| 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: |   35 | 
|     '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, |   40 | 
| 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, |   45 | 
| 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; |   50 | 
| 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 |   55 | 
| 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." |   60 | 
|    | 
| 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 |   65 | 
|     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, |   70 | 
| 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 |   75 | 
| On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight 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. |   80 | 
| "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! |   85 | 
| 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." |   90 | 
|    | 
| "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!" |   95 | 
|     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! |  100 | 
| 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, |  105 | 
| 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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