The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,<br> Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—<br> While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,<br> As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.<br> “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—<br> Only this and nothing more.”<br> <br> Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;<br> And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.<br> Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow<br> From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—<br> For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—<br> Nameless here for evermore.<br> <br> And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain<br> Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;<br> So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating<br> “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—<br> Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—<br> This it is and nothing more.”