The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe 1Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 2Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, 3While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 4As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 5"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door— 6Only this, and nothing more." 7Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 8And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 9Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow 10From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— 11For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— 12Nameless here for evermore. 13And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 14Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 15So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 16"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door— 17Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;— 18This it is, and nothing more." 19Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 20"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; 21But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 22And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, 23That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;—— 24Darkness there, and nothing more. 25Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, 26Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; 27But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, 28And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!" 29This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" 30Merely this, and nothing more. 31Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 32Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before. 33"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; 34Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— 35Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;— 36'Tis the wind and nothing more!" 37Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 38In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; 39Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he; 40But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— 41Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door— 42Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 43Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 44By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 45"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, 46Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore— 47Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" 48Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 49Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 50Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore; 51For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 52Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— 53Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 54With such name as "Nevermore." 55But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 56That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 57Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered— 58Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before— 59On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." 60Then the bird said "Nevermore." 61Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 62"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store 63Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 64Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore— 65Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 66Of 'Never—nevermore.'" 67But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, 68Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; 69Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 70Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— 71What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 72Meant in croaking "Nevermore." 73This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 74To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; 75This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 76On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, 77But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er, 78She shall press, ah, nevermore! 79Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 80Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 81"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee 82Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! 83Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" 84Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 85"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!— 86Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 87Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted— 88On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore— 89Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!" 90Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 91"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil! 92By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore— 93Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 94It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— 95Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." 96Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 97"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting— 98"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! 99Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! 100Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door! 101Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" 102Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 103And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 104On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 105And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 106And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; 107And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 108Shall be lifted—nevermore!