The Raven
Edgar Allen Poe
Once upon a midnight dreadry, 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 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 surrow, sorrow for the lost
Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name
Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.
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 is it, 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 cham ber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened
wide the door;-- Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, won dering, 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.
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