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

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-"

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THE POETICAL WORKS

OF

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

THE RAVEN.

I.

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

door

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber

door;

This it is, and nothing more."

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