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 visiter", 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 visiter entreating
        entrance at my chamber door -
        Some late visiter 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
        my sad 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."

        Thus 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!