Once upon
a midnight dreary,
while I pondered, weak
and weary, Over many a quaint an
d curious volume of forgotten lore, Whil
e 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, "tappi
ng at my chamber door- Only this, and nothi
ng more.' Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the
bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrough
t its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;-
vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sor
row-sorrow for the lost Lenore- For the rare and radiant maid
en whom the angels name Lenore- Nameless here for evermore. An
d
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 en
treating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance
at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew S
tronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiv
eness 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 su
re 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 mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was u
nbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was th
e 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 so
ul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Sure
ly," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice: Let me see, then, what th
ereat is, and this mystery explore- Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery expl
ore;- '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 sain tly days
of yo
re; Not t
he least obeisance made he; not
a min
ute stopped
or staye
d he; But, with mien of lord
or lady, perched above my C
hamber door- Perched upon
a bust of Pallas just above my ch
amber door- Perched, a
n d sat, and nothing more. Then th
is ebony bird beguili
ng my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and ste
rn decorum of the CO
untenance it wore. "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven
,
thou," I said, "a
rt sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering
from the Nightly S
hore- 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, Tho
ugh its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agr
eeing t
hat no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamb
er door- Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With S
uch name as "Nevermore." But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke o
nly That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further t
hen he uttered-not a feather then he fluttered- Till I scarcely more than mutter ed,
"other friends have flown before- On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have f lo
wn before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore.