Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven

Flight RiskFlight Risk 

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Flight Risk

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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
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping
As of some one 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 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 lenore
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name lenore
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 chamber door
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber 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 chamber 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 mortals 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
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word lenore
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something 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 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 the nightly shore
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's plutonian shore
Quoth the raven 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 chamber door
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door
With such name as nevermore

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
Nothing farther 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 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 raven 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 hath sent thee
Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of lenore
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost lenore
Quoth the raven 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 balm in gilead tell me, tell me, I implore
Quoth the raven nevermore

Prophet said I, thing of evil prophet still, if bird or devil
By that heaven that bends above us by that god we both adore
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant aidenn
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name lenore
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name lenore
Quoth the raven nevermore

Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend I shrieked upstarting
Get thee back into the tempest and the nights 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 raven nevermore

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of pallas just above my chamber 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

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