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 teh beating of my heart, I stood repeating
" 'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truely your forginess I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"-
here I opened wide the door;-
Darness there and nothing more.

Deep into the darness peering, long I stood
there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared
to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spokern was the whispered word,
"Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Then into the chamber turnin, all my soul
within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what there at is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when,
With any a flirt and fluter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the leasr obeiesance made he; not an instant stopped or
stayed 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, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird reguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Through 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 Pluntonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear
discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary 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 name as "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.
Nothing father then he uttered-not a feather
then he fluttered-
Till I scarceky more than muttered "Other friends
have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes
have flown before."
Quoth the Raven "Nebermore."

Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster so, when Hope
he would adjure
Stern Despair returned, instead of the sweet hope
he dared adjure-
That sad answer, "Nevermore!"

But the Raven still beuiling all my sad soul into smiling
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird,
and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betooked myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim ungainly, ghastly, gaunt,
and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned
into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining with the lamo-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed
perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled
on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee-by these angels
he hath sent thee
Respite-respite abd nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Let me quaff this kind nepenthe and forget thi slost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said i, "thing of evil !-prophet still,
if bird or devil !-
Whether Tempte sent or whether tempest tossed
thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by Horrow haunted-tell me truly, I implore-
is there- is there balm in Gilread?-tell me-tell me , I implore!-
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil !-prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us-by that God
we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the sistant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name
Lenore-
Clasp a rare a radiant maiden
whom the angels name Lenore."
quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"be that word our sign of parting, bird or diend!"
I shrieked, upstaring-
"get thee back into the tempest and the
Night's Plutonian shore!
Let no black plume as a token of that lie
thy soul hath spoken!
Let 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 flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon
that is dreaming.
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow
on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating
the floor
shall be lifted-nevermore!

Written By Edgar Allen Poe
February, 1845

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