THE RAVEN

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, distnctly I remember it was on 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 fro 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 visiter 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 dorr,
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 sour within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something 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 a many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the santly 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 the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and strn decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Thought thy crest be shom and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering grom 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 and on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if its 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 stillnes 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 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 sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of the bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself into linkin
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 guesing, but no syllabe 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 with that the lamp-light goated over*,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light goating over
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swumg bu 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 desrt land enchanted
On this home by Horror haunted tell me truly I implore
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 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 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 has 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 lam-light over him streaming throws his shadows on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted-- nevermore!
The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe.