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Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter
It started on that dark snowy night in December, a man sitting in his chair napping, sitting in front of the fire, when all of a sudden there was a tapping at his chamber door.
Nothing at the door next a tapping at his window, and smelled an unseen censer, the smell of Lenore, that sweet smell, but nothing was there.
As he opened the window a Raven flew in the chamber, flying around and then perched on the bust of pallas, continuously saying nevermore after every question the man asked.
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