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 
                                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 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 mein of lord or lady, perched 
                                above my chamber door-- 
                        Perched upon my 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 
                                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 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 Tempest 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." 
  

                        "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 heat, 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!