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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.”
"sir," I said, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore," Bu the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came tapping, I didn't hear."
“Lenore?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”— Merely this and nothing more.
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
And the raven, never flitting, is sitting, still sitting, On the bust of pallid above my chamber door, His eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming
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