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 some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis 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 wrought its ghost upon the
floor.
Eagerly I wished
the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books
surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless
here for evermore.
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 some visitor entreating entrance at my
chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is
and nothing more.”
Presently my soul
grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
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 opened 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 stillness gave no token,
And the only word
there spoken was the whispered 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 me burning,
Soon again I heard 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 explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the
wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung
the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of
yore;
Not the least
obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of
lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched,
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,
“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 marvelled
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
blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber
door,
With such
name as “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 uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely
more than muttered “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
Followed fast and
followed 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 fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned 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 burned 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 lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating
o’er,
She shall
press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought,
the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted
floor.
“Wretch,” I cried,
“thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite
and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
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 tossed 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 shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian
shore!
Leave no black
plume as a token of that 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 lamp-light
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!
