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 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 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 taping, 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 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
  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, 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!"
                            Quote 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 a name as "Nevermore."


But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust,
 spoke only
That one word, as if his 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 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
                                   of 'Never - nevermore."


But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird,
  and burst and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself
  to linking
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 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
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light
  gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light
  gloating o'er,
                               She shall pres, ah, nevermore!


Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed
  from an unseen censer
Swung by 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;
Quaf, 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
  enchanted - 
On this home by Horror haunted - tel me truly,
  I implore-
Is there - 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 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."
                         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!
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 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!