The Raven.

The Raven.
EDGAR ALLAN POE.
304.1

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, er many
Over a quaint and curious volume of for- Kotten lore.
While i nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping.
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“Tis some visitor.” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah. distinctiv I remember. It was in the bleak De- cember.
And each, separata, dying ember wrought Its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow: vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcense of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,
For the rare and radiant malden whom the angels name Lenore. Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thritled me, filled me, with fantastle terrors never felt before:
So that now, to still the beating of my heart. I stocd repeating.
Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door:
This it is, and nothing more.”

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.
Not the least chelsance made he: not a minute stopped or stald he:
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my. chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door:
Perched, und sat. and nothing more.

Then this chon bird beguiling my sad fancy into snifling.
By the grave and stern decorum of the counte- nance it wore.
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou.” I said. “art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim. and ancient raven, wandering from the Nightly shore,
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s
Plutonian shore.”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear dis- course so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning. little relevancy bore:
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door.
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door.
With such a name as “Nevermore.”

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust. spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpaur.
Nothing further then he uttered: not a feather then he fluttered:
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before:
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said. “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly sboken.
“Doubtless,” said I. “what it utters is its only stock and store.
Caught from some unhappy master. whom un- merciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy bur- den bore,
Of ‘Never nevermore.””

But the raven still begulling all my sad soul into Emiling.
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door:
Then, upon the velvet sinking. I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and
bird of vore. ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking. “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable ex- prerning
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core my
This and more I I wat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er.
But whose velvet vialet lining with the lampiight glonting o’er.
She shall press, ah, nevermore.

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen center.
Swung by seraphim whess footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite respite and nepenthe from thy mem- orles of Lenore!
Quair, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget thislost Lenore!”
Quoth the raven, “Neverinore.”

“Prophet!” said I. “thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or tempest tossed thee here ashore
Desolate vet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted.
On this home by Horror haunted-tell me truly, 1 Implor
Is there is there balm in Gilead?-tell me tell me. I implore!””
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting-
“Get thee back into the tempest and the night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness 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, never fitting, still is sitting, stili Is sitting
On the nallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door:
And his eves have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming:
And the Iamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the flooг:
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floatine on the flo floor.
Shall be lifted-nevermore!