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Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

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“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

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

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

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And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

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For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

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

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

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

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

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“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

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As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

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

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Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

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

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Shall be lifted—nevermore!

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

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

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

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

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

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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

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

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

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

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“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

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“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

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Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

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It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

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

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By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

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“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

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Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

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On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

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Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

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

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