The Raven

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, "rapping 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 named Lenore