by Edgar Allan Poe. The Raven. 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 jiggly rapping, rapping at my chamber door. To 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 brought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the moral, mainly I had sought to borrow from my books, Cerceus 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 visitor and treating entrance at my chamber door. Some late visitor and treating entrance at my chamber door, this it is and nothing more. Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer, Cerceus said I am madam, truly your forgiveness I implore, but the fact is I was napping, and so jipped 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 then, 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 they're spoken was the whisper 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 the burning, soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before, surely, said I, surely that is something that my window lattice, let me see then what there at is, and this mystery explored, let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery it stood, just the wind and nothing more. Open here I flung the shutter wind with many a flirt and flutter, in their step-day stately raven of the same days of you, not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped first aid, but with mean of Lord our Lady, perched above my chamber door, perched upon at bust of Palace, just above my chamber door, perched at set, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling, my sad fancy into smiling, by the gray and stern decorum of the countenance of war, though thy crest be shorn in shavond thou, I set our sure no craving, castly grim an agent raven wondering from the lightly shored, tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's plutonian shore, quote the raven, never more. Much I marveled at this ungainly foul to hear the squirt so plainly, though its answer little meaning, little relevancy or, for we cannot help agreeing that no living human being, every yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door, perched our beast upon the sculptured bust, a bird of his chamber door, with such name as, never more. But the raven sitting lonely on the plasid bust spoke only, that one word, as if he sold in that one word he did out poor, nothing further than he uttered, not a feather than he fluttered, till I scarcely more than muttered, other friends have flown before, on the morrow he believed me, as my hopes have flown before. Then the bird said, never more. Startled at the stimmers broken by reply so aptly spoken, thou mustst that eye, but he cutters his own stocking store. Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster, followed fast and followed faster till he songs one golden bore, tell the dirges of his hope, that melancholy burden bore, of never, never more. But the raven still be giling all my fancy into smiling, straight I wield a Christian seat in front of bird in bust and door. Then upon the velvet saking, I bet it myself too linking fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yours, luck this grim, un-gainly, ghastly gaunt and ominous bird of yours, met incroaking, never more. This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing, to the foul whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom school. This more I sat divining with my head at ease, reclining on the cushions velvet lining that the lamp light bloated over, but whose velvet violet lining with the lamp light gloating over, she shall pressah, never more. Then we thought the air grew denser, perfume from an unseen sense room, swam by seraphim whose foot falls tangled on the top of the floor. Rech, I cried, I got as lengthy, by these angels he has sent thee, respite, respite and a penty from my memories of Lenore. Cough, coff, coff, this kind, dependency, and forget this lost Lenore, wrote the raven, never more. Profit, said I, think of evil, profit still of bird or devil, whether tempter center, whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, desolate yet all undotted on this desert land enchanted, on this home by horror-hearted, tell me truly I implore me, is there, is there bomb in giliet? Tell me, tell me I implore, quote the raven, never more. Profit, said I, think of evil, profit still of bird or devil, buy that heaven that bends above us, buy that god we built the door, tell this soul with sorrow, laden, if within the distant aiden it shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore, clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, quote the raven, never more. Be that word our sign of partying bird or being die shriek upstarting, get thee back into the tippest and the night's plutonian shore, leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken. Leave my loneliness had broken, quit the bust above my door, take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door, quote the raven, never more. And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, on the pallid bust of tellus just above my chamber door, and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, and the lamp light or him streaming throws his shadow on the floor, and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted never more. Good God, the raven.