"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary.For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore".
"'While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, "
WHATS THAT SOUND!?
" I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor."
"From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-"
Maybe this would clear my mind.
"And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;"
Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
"And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 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- nevermore! "