Rapping At My Chamber Door

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"In one case upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious book of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nigh napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some 1 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 Dec,
And each carve up dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to infringe
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 deplorable 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 belatedly visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is, and zip more."

Shortly my soul grew stronger; hesitating and so 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 borer, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide the door; —
Darkness there, and zilch more than.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals always dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the but give-and-take there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —
Merely this, and cipher more.

Back into the bedchamber turning, all my soul inside me burning,
Shortly once again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Permit 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 null more than."

Open up here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In in that location stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the to the lowest degree obeisance made he; not a infinitesimal stopped or stayed he;
Simply, with mien of lord or lady, perched higher up my bedchamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just in a higher place my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nix more than.

So this ebony bird beguiling my lamentable fancy into smile,
Past the grave and stern decorum of the countenance information technology wore.
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, yard," I said, "fine art certain 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 fiddling significant— little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help like-minded that no living man beingness
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or animal upon the sculptured bust to a higher place his sleeping room door,
With such proper noun as "Nevermore."

― Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven

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The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
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