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The Raven

Edgar Allan Poe


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore&amp;#8212;

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door&amp;#8212;

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;&amp;#8212;vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow&amp;#8212;sorrow for the lost Lenore&amp;#8212;

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore&amp;#8212;

Nameless here for evermore.

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