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 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:
" '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 tapping, 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 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 thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth
the Rave, "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 blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird
or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With
such a 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
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,
methougt, the air grew denser, perfumed from some 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 they 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 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 the
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!