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

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Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

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While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

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As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

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

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Only this, and nothing more."

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Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

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

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

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From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--

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For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore--

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Nameless here for evermore.

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And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

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

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

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

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Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;

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This it is, and nothing more,"

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Presently my heart grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

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

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

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And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

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

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Darkness there, and nothing more.

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

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

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But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

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And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"

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

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Merely this and nothing more.

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

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Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

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"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;--

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

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

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'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

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

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In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;

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Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;

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

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

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Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

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Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

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By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

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

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Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore--

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

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Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

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

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Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore,

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For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

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

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

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With such name as "Nevermore."

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But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

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

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Nothing further then he uttered--not a feather then he fluttered--

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Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before--

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

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Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

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Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

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

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Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

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

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Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

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Of 'Never--nevermore.'"

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But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

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

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Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

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

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What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

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Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

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This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

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

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

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On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,

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But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,

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She shall press, ah, nevermore!

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

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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 has sent thee

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Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

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

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Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

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

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Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

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Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--

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On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--

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

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Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

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

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by that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--

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

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It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore--

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Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?"

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Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

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"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting--

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

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

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Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!

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

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Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

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And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

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

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

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

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

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Shall be lifted--nevermore!