| The Raven |
| Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over a many 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 seperate 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 who the angels named 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.' Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer, 'Sir', I said, "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 my door;- Darkness there, and nothing more. |