Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten 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
Tis some visitor, I muttered, only this, and nothing more
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December
And each separate 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 named Lenore
For the rare and radiant maiden, nameless here forevermore
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 visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door
Some late visitor entreating this it is and nothing more
Deep into that darkness 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 spoken was the whispered word, Lenore
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, Lenore
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, Lenore
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 obeisance made he; not a minute 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 upon a bust of Pallas, perched, and sat, and nothing more
Soon that ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou, I said, art sure no craven
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering on the nightly shore
Tell me what thy lordly name is on this Night's Plutonian shore
Tell me what thy lordly name is quoth the raven, Nevermore
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor
Wretch I cried thy God hath lent the by these angels he has sent thee
Respite, respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore
Quaff oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore
Quaff oh quaff this kind nepenthe 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 distant Aidenn
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden quoth the raven, Nevermore
Be that word our sign in 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 and 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
Take thy beak from out my heart quoth the raven, Nevermore
Now 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's 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 on the floor
And my soul from out that shadow shall be lifted nevermore