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.
“’T is some visiter,” 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
“’T is 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 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;—
’T
is 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 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 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 lamplight
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 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!
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 lamplight 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!
