"Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, " Quoth the .Raven, Nevermore.'" THE POETICAL WORKS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE. THE RAVEN. 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.” II. 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. III. 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 doorSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is, and nothing more.” |