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 named
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 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 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 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 above 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 further 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 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 Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled
on the tufted floor.
‘Wretch,’ I cried, ‘thy God hath lent
thee - by these angels he has 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 named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom
the angels named 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!