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 mortals
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

Something louder than before.

66

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 blest 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 that 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 flutteredTill I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown beforeOn 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, "Doubtles," 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.'

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in

Front of bird and bust and door;