The Raven - Edgar Allan Poe

[First published in 1845]


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 - 
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 - 
Nameless here for evermore. 

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; - 
This it is, and nothing more,' 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness 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; - 
Darkness there, 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!' 
Merely this and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice; 
Let me see then, what thereat 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 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, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this 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 from the nightly shore - 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian 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 living human being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door - 
Bird or beast above 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 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 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 till his songs one burden bore - 
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore 
Of "Never-nevermore."' 

But the raven still beguiling 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 betook 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 that the lamp-light gloated o'er, 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, 
She shall press, ah, 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 thee - 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!' 
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' 

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - 
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - 
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore - 
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - 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 distant Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore - 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?' 
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 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 
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

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