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| THE RAVEN. |
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| ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — |
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| While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. |
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| ''Tis some visiter,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door — |
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| Only this and nothing more.' |
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| Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. |
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| 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. |
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| And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; |
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| So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating |
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| ''Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door — |
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| Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; |
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| This it is and nothing more.' |
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| Presently my soul grew stronger; |
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| hesitating then no longer, 'Sir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; |
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| 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' — |
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| here I opened wide the door; — — |
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| Darkness there and nothing more. |
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| Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; |
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| But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 'Lenore?' |
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| This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 'Lenore!' — |
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| Merely this and nothing more. |
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| Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before. |
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| 'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice; |
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| Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore — |
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| Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; — |
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| 'Tis the wind and nothing more.' |
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| 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. |
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| Not the least obeisance made he; |
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| not a minute stopped or stayed he; |
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| But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door — Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door — |
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| Perched, and sat, and nothing more. |
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| 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 — |
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| Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' |
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| Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.' |
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| Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, |
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| Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; |
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| 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.' |
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| But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. |
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| Nothing farther then he uttered; |
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| not a feather then he fluttered — |
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| Till I scarcely more than muttered |
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| 'Other friends have flown before — |
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| On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.' |
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| Then the bird said 'Nevermore.' |
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| Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 'Doubtless,' said I, 'what it utters is its only stock and store |
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| Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore — |
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| Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never — nevermore.'' |
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| 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; |
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| 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.' |
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| This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; |
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| 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, |
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| But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp - light gloating o'er She shall press, ah, nevermore! |
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| Then, me thought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot - falls tinkled on the tufted floor. |
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| 'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! |
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| Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!' |
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| Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.' |
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| 'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! |
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| — prophet still, if bird or devil! — |
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| Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here a shore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — |
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| Is there — is there balm in Gilead? |
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| — tell me — tell me, I implore!' |
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| Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.' |
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| 'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil — |
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| prophet still, if bird or devil! |
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| By that Heaven that bends above us — |
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| by that God we both adore — |
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| Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — |
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| Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.' |
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| Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.' |
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| 'Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked, upstarting — |
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| 'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! |
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| Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! |
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| Leave my loneliness unbroken! |
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| — quit the bust above my door! |
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| Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' |
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| Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.' |
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| And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; |
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| And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming |
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| And the lamp - light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; |
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| And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore! |