Poe, "The Raven"

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,rnBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,rn`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrowrnFrom my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -rnFor the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -rnNameless here for evermore.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,rnBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,rn`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainrnThrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;rnSo that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeatingrn`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -rnSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -rnThis it is, and nothing more,'rnrnPresently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,rn`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;rnBut the fact is ...

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingrnTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;rnThis and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningrnOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,rnBut whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,rnShe shall press, ah, nevermore!

`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent theernRespite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,rn`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,rnCaught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disasterrnFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -rnTill the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden borernOf "Never-nevermore."'

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerrnSwung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;rnBut, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -rnPerched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -rnPerched, and sat, and nothing more.

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,rnStraight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;rnThen, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingrnFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -rnWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yorernMeant in croaking `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,rn`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,rnCaught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disasterrnFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -rnTill the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden borernOf "Never-nevermore."'

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -rnTell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'

Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrowrnFrom my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -rnFor the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -rnNameless here for evermore.

-rnWhether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,rnDesolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -rnOn this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -rnIs there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,rnBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,rn`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainrnThrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;rnSo that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeatingrn`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -rnSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -rnThis it is, and nothing more,'rnrnPresently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,rn`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;rnBut the fact is ...

-rnWhether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,rnDesolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -rnOn this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -rnIs there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,rnAnd each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,rnBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,rn`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingrnOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;rnAnd his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,rnAnd the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;rnAnd my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floorrnShall be lifted - nevermore!

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;rnBut, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -rnPerched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -rnPerched, and sat, and nothing more.

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -rnTell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,rnAnd each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -rnTell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,rnIt shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -rnClasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,rnThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,rnStraight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;rnThen, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingrnFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -rnWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yorernMeant in croaking `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingrnOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;rnAnd his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,rnAnd the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;rnAnd my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floorrnShall be lifted - nevermore!

Edgar Allan PoernrnThe Raven [first published in 1845]rnrnOnce upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,rnOver many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,rnWhile I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,rnAs of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

-rnWhether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,rnDesolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -rnOn this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -rnIs there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'

Edgar Allan PoernrnThe Raven [first published in 1845]rnrnOnce upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,rnOver many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,rnWhile I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,rnAs of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

Edgar Allan PoernrnThe Raven [first published in 1845]rnrnOnce upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,rnOver many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,rnWhile I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,rnAs of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingrnTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;rnThis and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningrnOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,rnBut whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,rnShe shall press, ah, nevermore!

By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -rnTell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,rnIt shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -rnClasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'

Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -rnTill I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -rnOn the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainrnThrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;rnSo that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeatingrn`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -rnSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -rnThis it is, and nothing more,'rnrnPresently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,rn`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;rnBut the fact is I was n...

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,rnThough its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;rnFor we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingrnEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -rnBird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,rnWith such name as `Nevermore.'

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,rnBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,rn`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,rnBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,rn`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingrnTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;rnThis and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningrnOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,rnBut whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,rnShe shall press, ah, nevermore!