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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,While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—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.For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—Nameless here for evermore.
  • And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber doorSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—This it is, and nothing more.
  • Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;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.
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