Once upon a midnight dreary, while weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume forgotten lore.
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 surceased of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore. For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore. Nameless here and nothing more.
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; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady,perched above my chamber door, perched upon a bust
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 On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er; She shall press, ah, 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! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!Quoth the Raven ''Nevermore"!