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While I nodded, nearly napping,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door— Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
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.
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