amidnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many aquaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,While Inodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."'Tissome visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber doorOnly this,and nothing more."Ah,distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And eachseparate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly Iwished the morrow;vainly I had tried to borrowFrom mybooks surcease of sorrowsorrow for the lost LenoreFor therare and radiant maiden whom the angels name LenoreNamelesshere for evermore.And thesilken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilledmefilled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So thatnow, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating"'Tissome visiter entreating entrance at my chamber doorSome latevisiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;This it is,and nothing more."Presentlymy soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Sir,"said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;But thefact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And sofaintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,That Iscarce was sure I heard you"here I opened wide the door;Darknessthere, and nothing more.Deep intothat darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting,dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;But thesilence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,And theonly word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"This I whispered,and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"Merelythis, and nothing more.Then intothe chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,Soon Iheard 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 exploreLet myheart be still a moment and this mystery explore;'Tis thewind, and nothing more!"Open here Iflung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,In therestepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;Not theleast obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;But, withmien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber doorPerchedupon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber doorPerched,and sat, and nothing more. Then thisebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By thegrave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,"Thoughthy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastlygrim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shoreTell mewhat thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"Quoth theraven, "Nevermore."Much Imarvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though itsanswer little meaninglittle relevancy bore;For wecannot help agreeing that no sublunary beingEver yetwas blessed with seeing bird above his chamber doorBird orbeast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,With suchname as "Nevermore."But theraven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke onlyThat oneword, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothingfarther then he utterednot a feather then he flutteredTill Iscarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown beforeOn themorrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."Quoth theraven, "Nevermore."Wonderingat the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless,"said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,Caught fromsome unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowedfast and followed fasterso, when Hope he would adjure,SternDespair returned, instead of the sweet Hope