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Answer
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Once upon a midnight dreary,
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while I pondered, weak and weary,
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Over many a quaint and curious
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volume of forgotten lore—
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While I nodded, nearly napping,
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suddenly there came a tapping,
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As of someone gently rapping,
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rapping at my chamber door.
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“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered,
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“tapping at my chamber door—
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Only this and nothing more.”
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Ah, distinctly I remember
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it was in the bleak December;
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And each separate dying ember
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wrought its ghost upon the floor.
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Eagerly I wished the morrow;
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—vainly I had sought to borrow
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From my books surcease of sorrow
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—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
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For the rare and radiant maiden
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whom the angels name Lenore—
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Nameless here forevermore.
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And the silken, sad, uncertain
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rustling of each purple curtain
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Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic
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terrors never felt before;
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So that now, to still the beating
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of my heart, I stood repeating
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“’Tis some visitor entreating
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entrance at my chamber door—
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Some late visitor entreating
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entrance at my chamber door;—
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This it is and nothing more.”
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Presently my soul grew stronger;
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hesitating then no longer,
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“Sir,” said I, “or Madam,
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truly your forgiveness I implore;
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But the fact is I was napping,
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and so gently you came rapping,
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And so faintly you came tapping,
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tapping at my chamber door,
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That I scarce was sure I heard you”
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—here I opened wide the door;—
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Darkness there and nothing more.
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Deep into that darkness peering,
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long I stood there wondering, fearing,
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Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal
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ever dared to dream before;
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But the silence was unbroken,
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and the stillness gave no token,
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And the only word there spoken
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was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
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This I whispered, and an echo
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murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
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Merely this and nothing more.
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Back into the chamber turning,
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all my soul within me burning,
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Soon again I heard a tapping
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somewhat louder than before.
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“Surely,” said I, “surely that is
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something at my window lattice;
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Let me see, then, what thereat is,
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and this mystery explore—
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Let my heart be still a moment
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and this mystery explore;—
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’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
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Open here I flung the shutter,
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when, with many a flirt and flutter,
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In there stepped a stately Raven
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of the saintly days of yore;
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Not the least obeisance made he;
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not a minute stopped or stayed he;
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But, with mien of lord or lady,
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perched above my chamber door—
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Perched upon a bust of Pallas
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just above my chamber door—
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Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
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Then this ebony bird beguiling
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my sad fancy into smiling,
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By the grave and stern decorum
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of the countenance it wore,
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“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven,
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thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
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Ghastly grim and ancient Raven
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wandering from the Nightly shore—
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Tell me what thy lordly name is
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on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
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Much I marvelled this ungainly
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fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
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Though its answer little meaning
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—little relevancy bore;
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For we cannot help agreeing
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that no living human being
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Ever yet was blessed with seeing
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bird above his chamber door—
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Bird or beast upon the sculptured
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bust above his chamber door,
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With such name as “Nevermore.”
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But the Raven, sitting lonely
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on the placid bust, spoke only
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That one word, as if his soul
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in that one word he did outpour.
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Nothing farther then he uttered
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—not a feather then he fluttered—
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Till I scarcely more than muttered
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“Other friends have flown before—
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On the morrow he will leave me,
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as my Hopes have flown before.”
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Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
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Startled at the stillness broken
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by reply so aptly spoken,
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“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters
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is its only stock and store
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Caught from some unhappy master
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whom unmerciful disaster
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Followed fast and followed faster
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till his songs one burden bore—
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Till the dirges of his hope
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that melancholy burden bore
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Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
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But the Raven still beguiling
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all my fancy into smiling,
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Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat
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in front of bird, and bust and door;
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Then, upon the velvet sinking,
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I betook myself to linking
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Fancy unto fancy, thinking
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what this ominous bird of yore—
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What this grim, ungainly, ghastly,
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gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
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Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
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This I sat engaged in guessing,
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but no syllable expressing
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To the fowl whose fiery eyes now
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burned into my bosom’s core;
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This and more I sat divining,
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with my head at ease reclining
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On the cushion’s velvet lining
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that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
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But whose velvet-violet lining
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with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
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She shall press, ah, nevermore!
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Then, methought, the air grew denser,
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perfumed from an unseen censer
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Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls
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tinkled on the tufted floor.
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“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee
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—by these angels he hath sent thee
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Respite—respite and nepenthe
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from thy memories of Lenore;
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Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe
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and forget this lost Lenore!”
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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
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“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!
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—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
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Whether Tempter sent, or whether
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tempest tossed thee here ashore,
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Desolate yet all undaunted,
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on this desert land enchanted—
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On this home by Horror haunted
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—tell me truly, I implore—
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Is there—is there balm in Gilead?
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—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
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“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!
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—prophet still, if bird or devil!
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By that Heaven that bends above us
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—by that God we both adore—
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Tell this soul with sorrow laden
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if, within the distant Aidenn,
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It shall clasp a sainted maiden
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whom the angels name Lenore—
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Clasp a rare and radiant maiden
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whom the angels name Lenore.”
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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
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“Be that word our sign of parting,
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bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
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“Get thee back into the tempest
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and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
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Leave no black plume as a token
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of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
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Leave my loneliness unbroken!
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—quit the bust above my door!
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Take thy beak from out my heart,
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and take thy form from off my door!”
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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
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And the Raven, never flitting,
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still is sitting, still is sitting
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On the pallid bust of Pallas
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just above my chamber door;
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And his eyes have all the seeming
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of a demon’s that is dreaming,
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And the lamp-light o’er him streaming
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throws his shadow on the floor;
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And my soul from out that shadow
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that lies floating on the floor
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Shall be lifted—nevermore!
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