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 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 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 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, 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.”