Edgar Allen Poe Stories

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 visitor," 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 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 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