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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-
Open here i flung the shutter, when, with a many flirt and flutter, In stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore
"Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-tell me what they lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil...tell me truly I implore-Is there-is there a balm of Gilead-tell me-tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
"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!
And the Rave, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting on the bust of Pallas just above my chamber door: And my sould from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted- Nevermore!
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