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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 I heard again 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 ex

plore; 'T is 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 an instant

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 cham

ber 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 Plu

tonian shore !” Quoth the raven, “ Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse

so plainly — Though its anwer little meaning, little relevancy bore: For we cannot help agreeing that no living human be

ing

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his cham

ber door Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his cham

ber door, With such name as “ Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke

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

outpour. Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered

Till I searcely more than muttered, “Other friends

bave flown before — On the morrow be will leave me, as my hopes bere

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 the melancholy burden

bore Of ' Never-nevermore.'”

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul 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 ex

pressing 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 lamplight

gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamplight

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, O 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 Plu

tonian 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.”

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