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Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core
thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
"Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore. Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
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