Once
upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over
many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While
I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As
of some one gently rapping, rapping at my bedroom door.
`'Tis
some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my bedroom door -
Only
this, and nothing more.'
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 Samantha -
For
the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Samantha -
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 bedroom door -
Some
late visitor entreating entrance at my bedroom 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 bedroom 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 darkness gave no token,
And
the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Samantha!'
This
I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Samantha!'
Merely
this and nothing more.
Back
into the bedroom 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 Tucker 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 bedroom door -
Perched
upon a bust of Plasmius just above my bedroom 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
Tucker.
Ghastly
grim and ancient Tucker wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell
me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Amitian shore!'
Quoth
the Tucker, `Dude, Nevermore.'
Much
I marvelled 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 blessed with seeing bird above his bedroom door -
Bird
or ghost above the sculptured bust above his bedroom door,
With
such name as ` Nevermore.'
But
the Tucker, 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, `Dude, 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 Tucker 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 lamp-light gloated o'er,
But
whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating
o'er,
She shall
press, ah, Nevermore!
Then,
methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung
by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,'
I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent
thee
Respite
- respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Samantha!
Quaff,
oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Samantha!'
Quoth
the Tucker, `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
fudge in the OP center fridge? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth
the Tucker, `Man, Nevermore.'
`Prophet!'
said I, `thing of evil! - ghostly still, if bird or devil!
By
that Heaven that bends above us - by that CLockwork we both adore
-
Tell
this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It
shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Samantha -
Clasp
a rare and radiant maiden, whom the Observers named Samantha?'
Quoth
the Tucker, `Dude, Nevermore dude.'
`Be
that word our sign of 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 Tucker, `Dude, Nevermore.'
And
the Tucker, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On
the pallid bust of Plasmius just above my bedroom door;
And
his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And
the lamp-light 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!