Tis some visitor, tapping at my chamber door-only this and nothing more?
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.
Sir or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; but the fact is I was napping, and so gently you cam rapping, and so faintly you cam tapping, tapping at my chamber door, that I scarce was sure I heard you.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; but the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, and the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"- merely this and nothing more
Soon again I hear a tapping something louder than before. "Surely, surely that is something at my window lattice." Open here I flung the shutter when, with many a flirt and flutter, in there steeped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. It perched above my chamber door.
Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though they crest be shorn and shaven, thou, art sure no craven."