Once

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Once upon a midnight

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dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

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While I nodded

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Nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

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‘Tis some

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visitor,’ I muttered ‘tapping at my chamber door? Only this and nothing more.

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Ah, distinctly

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I remember it was in the bleak December

And each separate dying Amber wrought its ghost upon the floor.

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Eagerly

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I wished the morrow — vainly I had sought to borrow

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From my books

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Surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore. For the rareand radiant maiden whom the Angels name Lenore.
Nameless here forevermore.

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So that now,

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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 — Tis it is and nothing more.’

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And the silken

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sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain - Thrilled me, Filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before.

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Presently my

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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,

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And so faintly

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You came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I Scare was sure I heard you’ — here I opened wide the door; — darkness there and nothing more.

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Deep into

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that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

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But the silence

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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.

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Back into

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the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

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„Surely,“ said I,

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„surely that is something at my window lattice;

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Let me see,

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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!“

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Open here

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I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;

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Not the least

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obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

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But, with mien

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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.

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Then this ebony

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bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

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By the grave

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and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

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„Though thy crest

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be shorn and shaven, thou,“ I said, „art sure no craven,