Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

With such name as “Nevermore.”

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—