# The Raven

Эдгар Аллан По

The Raven


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 visiter", I muttered, "tapping at my chamber


door -


Only this and nothing more."


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.


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 visiter entreating entrance at my chamber


door -


Some late visiter 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 stillness 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 again I heard 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 a minute 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 the placid bust, spoke


only


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


outpour.


Nothing farther 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."


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 my sad fancy 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."


Thus 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 lamp-light


gloated o'er,


But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light


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."


And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is


sitting


On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber


door;


And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that


is dreaming,


And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his


shadow on the floor;


And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating


on the floor


Shall be lifted - nevermore!


(1844-1849)