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!”

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul

within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder

then before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at

my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this

mistery explore —

Let my heart be still a moment and this mistery

explore; —

‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many

a flirt and flutter,

In the 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