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 the bleak December;
And each seperate dying ember wrought it's ghost on the floor,
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow,
For 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, hesistating then no longer,
"Sir," said I "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so you came gently rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
And that I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I open wide the door;- Darkness there and nothing more .
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreamimg 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 threat 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 obiesance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a burst of Pallas 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,
"Thou the crest be shorn and shaven, thou, I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wondering from 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 it's answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we can not 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 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 its utters is it 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 bore
Of "Never-nevermore."
But the Raven still beguling all my 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 linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this omniuos bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and omniuos bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable in expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosssom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphin 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;
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore.
"Prophet" Said I, "thing of evil-Prophet still-if bird or devil-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horrow haunted-tell 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 ladden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden who 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 fitting, 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 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!
A Poem By Edgar Allan Poe
