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“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 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 visitor entreating entrance at my
chamber door; —
This is it, 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 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.
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 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 blest with seeing bird above his
chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his
chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore.”
― Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven