The RavenEdgar Allan Poe, 1809 - 1849 Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten loreWhile 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 borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrowsorrow for the lost LenoreFor the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled mefilled 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 doorSome 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 youhere 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 exploreLet 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 doorPerched 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 shoreTell me what thy lordly name is on the Nights Plutonian shore! Quoth the Raven Nevermore.
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaninglittle relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber doorBird 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 onlyThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing further then he utterednot a feather then he flutteredTill I scarcely more than muttered Other friends have flown beforeOn 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 storeCaught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden boreTill the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of Nevernevermore.'"
But the Raven still beguiling my sad 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 linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yoreWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking Nevermore.
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosoms core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn 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 censerSwung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.Wretch," I cried, thy God hath lent theeby these angels he hath sent theeRespiterespite 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 enchantedOn this home by Horror hauntedtell me truly, I imploreIs thereis there balm in Gilead?tell metell me, I implore! Quoth the Raven Nevermore.
Prophet! said I, thing of evilprophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above usby that God we both adoreTell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name LenoreClasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore. Quoth the Raven Nevermore.
Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend! I shrieked, upstartingGet thee back into the tempest and the Nights 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 sittingOn 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 on the floor;And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be liftednevermore!
