Ah, distinctly I remember,
It was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember
    Wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wish'd the morrow;
Vainly I had tried 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
Thrill'd me — fill'd me with fantastic
    Terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating
Of my heart, I stood repeating
" 'Tis 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 open'd 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,  [column 2:]
And the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken
    Was the whisper'd word, "Lenore!"
This I whisper'd, and an echo
    Murmur'd back the word, "Lenore!"
    Merely this, and nothing more.

Then into the chamber turning,
All my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again 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 stepp'd a stately raven
    Of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he;
Not an instant stopp'd or stay'd he;
But, with mien of lord or lady,
    Perch'd above my chamber door —
Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas
    Just above my chamber door —
    Perch'd, 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 marvell'd 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 bless'd 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 utter'd —
Not a feather then he flutter'd —
Till I scarcely more than mutter'd
    "Other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me,
    As my hopes have flown before."
    Then the bird said "Nevermore."  [page 433:]

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
Follow'd fast and follow'd faster,
    Till his songs one burden bore —
Till the dirges of his Hope the
    Melancholy burden bore
    Of 'Nevermore,' — of 'Nevermore.' "

But the raven still beguiling
All my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheel'd a cushion'd 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
    Burn'd 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, never more!

Then, methought, the air grew denser,
Perfum'd from an unseen censer,
Swung by angels whose faint 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 toss'd 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  [column:]
    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 shriek'd, 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 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!