O
nce upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,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 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 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
darkness 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 I heard again 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 an instant 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 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 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 sad soul 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 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 lamplght gloated
o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating
o'er,
She shall press, ah,
nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser,
perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Angels whose faint 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 desert land enchanted --
On this home by Horror 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
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 --
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!