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;
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 marveled 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 blest 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 further 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 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
censerSwung by
Seraphim whose footfalls 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 in 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 lamplight 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!
Amused by the raven's comically serious disposition, the man demands that the bird tell him its name. The raven's
only answer is "Nevermore".[6] The narrator is surprised that the raven can talk, though it says nothing further. The narrator remarks to himself
that his "friend" the raven will soon fly out of his life, just as "other friends have flown before"[6] along with his previous hopes. As if answering, the raven responds again with "Nevermore".[6] The narrator reasons that the bird learned the word "Nevermore" from some "unhappy master" and
that it is the only word it knows.[6]
Even so, the narrator pulls his chair directly in front of the raven, determined to learn more about it. He thinks
for a moment, not saying anything, but his mind wanders back to his lost Lenore. He thinks the air grows denser and feels
the presence of angels. Confused by the association of the angels with the bird, the narrator becomes angry, calling the raven
a "thing of evil" and a "prophet". As he yells at the raven it only responds, "Nevermore".[7] Finally, he asks the raven whether he will be reunited with Lenore in Heaven. When the raven responds with its typical
"Nevermore", he shrieks and commands the raven to return to the "Plutonian shore",[7] though it never moves. Presumably at the time of the poem's recitation by the narrator, the raven "still is sitting"[7] on the bust of Pallas. The narrator's final admission is that his soul is trapped beneath the raven's shadow and shall
be lifted "Nevermore".[7]