The Raven - Edgar Allan Poe
Autor: Helaine Coutinho Sabbadini | Publicado: 2017-02-15T13:00:00-08:00


&nbsp;The Raven






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by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1845)



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Once upon a
midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,&nbsp;

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,&nbsp;

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,&nbsp;

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.&nbsp;

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Only this, and nothing more."&nbsp;



Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,&nbsp;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.&nbsp;

Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow&nbsp;

From my books&nbsp;surcease&nbsp;of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-&nbsp;

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Nameless&nbsp;here&nbsp;for evermore.&nbsp;




And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain&nbsp;

Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;&nbsp;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,&nbsp;

"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-&nbsp;

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; This it is, and nothing more."&nbsp;




Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,&nbsp;

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;&nbsp;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,&nbsp;

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,&nbsp;

That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Darkness there, and nothing more.&nbsp;




Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,&nbsp;

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;&nbsp;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,&nbsp;

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"&nbsp;

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Merely this, and nothing more.&nbsp;




Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,&nbsp;

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.&nbsp;

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window
lattice:&nbsp;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-&nbsp;

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Tis the wind and nothing more!"&nbsp;




Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,&nbsp;

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;&nbsp;

Not the least&nbsp;obeisance&nbsp;made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;&nbsp;

But, with&nbsp;mien&nbsp;of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-&nbsp;

Perched upon a bust of&nbsp;Pallas&nbsp;just above my chamber door-&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Perched, and sat, and nothing more.&nbsp;




Then this ebony bird&nbsp;beguiling&nbsp;my sad fancy into smiling,&nbsp;

By the grave and stern&nbsp;decorum&nbsp;of the countenance it wore.&nbsp;

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure
no craven,&nbsp;

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-&nbsp;

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's&nbsp;Plutonian&nbsp;shore!"&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."&nbsp;




Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,&nbsp;

Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;&nbsp;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being&nbsp;

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-&nbsp;

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; With such name as "Nevermore."&nbsp;




But the Raven, sitting lonely on the&nbsp;placid&nbsp;bust, spoke only&nbsp;

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.&nbsp;

Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-&nbsp;

Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before-&nbsp;

On the morrow&nbsp;he&nbsp;will leave me, as my hopes have flown
before."&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Then the bird said, "Nevermore."&nbsp;




Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,&nbsp;

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and
store,&nbsp;

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster&nbsp;

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-&nbsp;

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Of 'Never- nevermore'."&nbsp;




But the Raven still&nbsp;beguiling&nbsp;all my fancy into smiling,&nbsp;

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;&nbsp;

Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking&nbsp;

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-&nbsp;

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Meant in croaking "Nevermore."&nbsp;




This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing&nbsp;

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;&nbsp;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining&nbsp;

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,&nbsp;

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;She&nbsp;shall
press, ah, nevermore!&nbsp;




Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen&nbsp;censer&nbsp;

Swung by&nbsp;Seraphim&nbsp;whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.&nbsp;

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee&nbsp;

Respite- respite and&nbsp;nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!&nbsp;

Quaff, oh&nbsp;quaff&nbsp;this kind&nbsp;nepenthe&nbsp;and forget this lost
Lenore!"&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."&nbsp;




"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or
devil! -&nbsp;

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,&nbsp;

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-&nbsp;

On this home by Horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-&nbsp;

Is there-&nbsp;is&nbsp;there&nbsp;balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I
implore!"&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."&nbsp;




"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or
devil!&nbsp;

By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-&nbsp;

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant&nbsp;Aidenn,&nbsp;

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-&nbsp;

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."&nbsp;




"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
upstarting-&nbsp;

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's&nbsp;Plutonian&nbsp;shore!&nbsp;

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!&nbsp;

Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!&nbsp;

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."&nbsp;




And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting,&nbsp;still&nbsp;is
sitting&nbsp;

On the&nbsp;pallid&nbsp;bust of&nbsp;Pallas&nbsp;just above my chamber door;&nbsp;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,&nbsp;

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;&nbsp;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor&nbsp;

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Shall be lifted- nevermore!&nbsp;










[This version of the poem is from the&nbsp;Richmond Semi-Weekly Examiner,
September 25, 1849. It is generally accepted as the final version authorized by
Poe. Earlier and later versions had some minor differences.&nbsp;Source]



See the&nbsp;Versions of The Raven&nbsp;page.