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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."
From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore
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 Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door
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
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