The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe Complete Poem

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore�

��� While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one 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�

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore�

������������Nameless here for evermore.

��� 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,� said I, �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 the door;�

������������Darkness there and nothing more.

��� Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

��� But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

��� And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, �Lenore?�

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

������������Merely this and nothing more.

��� Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

��� �Surely,� said I, �surely that is something at my window lattice;

������Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore�

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;�

�������������Tis the wind and nothing more!�

��� Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

��� Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

��� But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door�

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door�

������������Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

�Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,� I said, �art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore�

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night�s Plutonian shore!�

������������Quoth the Raven �Nevermore.�

��� Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning�little relevancy bore;

��� For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

��� Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door�

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

������������With such name as �Nevermore.�

��� But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

��� Nothing farther then he uttered�not a feather then he fluttered�

��� Till I scarcely more than muttered �Other friends have flown before�

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.�

������������Then the bird said �Nevermore.�

��� Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

�Doubtless,� said I, �what it utters is its only stock and store

��� Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

��� Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore�

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

������������Of �Never�nevermore�.�

��� But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

��� Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

��� Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore�

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

������������Meant in croaking �Nevermore.�

��� This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom�s core;

��� This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

��� On the cushion�s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o�er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o�er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

��� Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

��� �Wretch,� I cried, �thy God hath lent thee�by these angels he hath sent thee

��� Respite�respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

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

������������Quoth the Raven �Nevermore.�

��� �Prophet!� said I, �thing of evil!�prophet still, if bird or devil!�

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

��� Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted�

��� On this home by Horror haunted�tell me truly, I implore�

Is there�is there balm in Gilead?�tell me�tell me, I implore!�

������������Quoth the Raven �Nevermore.�

��� �Prophet!� said I, �thing of evil!�prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us�by that God we both adore�

��� Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

��� It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore�

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.�

������������Quoth the Raven �Nevermore.�

��� �Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!� I shrieked, upstarting�

�Get thee back into the tempest and the Night�s Plutonian shore!

��� Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

��� Leave my loneliness unbroken!�quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!�

������������Quoth the Raven �Nevermore.�

��� And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

��� And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon�s that is dreaming,

��� And the lamp-light o�er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

������������Shall be lifted�nevermore!-