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 darkness 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.”