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, 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.

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

Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder

66

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 a 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,

66

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 blest with seeing bird above his

chamber door

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

With such name as 66 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."

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 that melancholy burden bore

Of' Never-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 burnt 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, nevermore!

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

Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

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

Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories

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 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 the 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's 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!

E. A. POE.