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
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 sorrow, 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 chamber 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, wondering, 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.
Back into
the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again
I heard a tapping, something 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 the 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 that 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 fancy 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."
Thus 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 footfalls 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, O
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 the shadow on the floor;
And my
soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted---nevermore!