Once upon a midnight dreary, while i poureded weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore while, i nodded napping, there became a tapping at my chamber door tis some visiter i muttered and nothing more.
Each seprate 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 for ever more.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrilled me filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before So that now, to still the beating of my heart i stood repeating tis some visiter entreaing entrance at my door Some late visiter entreaing at my chambor door this it is and nothing more
My soul grew stonger; hestiting then no longer, sir said I , or madam, truly your forgiveness i implore but the fact you came rapping, and so fanticly you came tapping at my chambor door, That I scarce was sure i heard you. Here i open wide the door darkness there, and nothing more.
Open here I flung the shutter, When, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stateley raven of the saintly days of yore. I said , art no craven, ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore tell me what thy lordly name is on the Nights Plutonian shore! Quoth the raven, Nevermore. But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Leave my lonliness 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. And the Raven still sitting on the pallid bust of pallas just above my chamber door, and the lamplight over him streaming throws his shadow on the floor, And my soul from that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted nevermore