| |
| 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. | |
| “’T is some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door; | 5 |
| 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,— | 10 |
| For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore,— | |
| Nameless here forevermore. | |
| |
| 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, | 15 |
| “’T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,— | |
| Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; | |
| That it is, and nothing more.” | |
| |
| Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, | |
| “Sir,” said I, “or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; | |
| But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness 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. | 30 |
| |
| Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, | |
| Soon again I heard a tapping, something 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;— | 35 |
| ’T is the wind, and nothing more.” | |
| |
| Open then 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 an instant stopped or stayed he; | |
| But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,— | 40 |
| 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; | 45 |
| 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; | 50 |
| 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 | 55 |
| That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. | |
| Nothing further 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!” | 60 |
| |
| 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 song one burden bore, | |
| Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore,— | 65 |
| Of ‘Nevermore,—nevermore!’” | |
| |
| But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul 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— | 70 |
| 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 | 75 |
| On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er, | |
| But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamplight gloating o’er, | |
| She shall press—ah! nevermore! | |
| |
| Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer, | |
| Swung by seraphim, whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. | 80 |
| “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee,—by these angels he hath sent thee | |
| Respite,—respite and nepenthe from the memories of Lenore! | |
| Quaff, O, 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! | 85 |
| 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!” | 90 |
| |
| “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 fair and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore!” | 95 |
| 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! | 100 |
| 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 that is dreaming, | 105 |
| And the lamplight 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! | |
| |
