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| Edgar Allen Poe (1809-1849) The Raven Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, o'er many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone 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, 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; this it is, and nothing more." |