140 lines
6.9 KiB
Plaintext
140 lines
6.9 KiB
Plaintext
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The Raven
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by Edgar Allen Poe
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(Published in the Broadway Journal, New York, 1845)
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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
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Over many quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore---
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While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
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As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
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"'T is some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door---
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Only this and nothing more."
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Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
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And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
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Eagerly I wished the morrow; --- vainly I had sought to borrow
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From my books surcease of sorrow --- sorrow for the lost Lenore---
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For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore---
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Nameless here for evermore.
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And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
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Thrilled me --- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
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So that now to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
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"'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door---
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Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;---
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This is it and nothing more."
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Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
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"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
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But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
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And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
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That I scarce was sure I heard you" --- here I opened wide the door;---
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Darkness there and nothing more.
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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
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Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
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But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
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And the only word there spoken was the whispered word "Lenore."
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This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore?"
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Merely this and nothing more.
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Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
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Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
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"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
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Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore---
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Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;---
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'T is the wind and nothing more!"
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Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
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In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
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Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
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But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door---
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Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door---
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Perched and sat, and nothing more.
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Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
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By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
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"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art
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sure no craven,
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Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore---
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Tell me what thy worldly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
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Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
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Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
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Though its answer little meaning --- little relevancy bore;
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For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
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Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door---
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Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
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With such name as "Nevermore."
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But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
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That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
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Nothing farther then he uttered --- not a feather then he fluttered---
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Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before---
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On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
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Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
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Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
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"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
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Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
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Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore---
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Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
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Of 'Never --- nevermore.'"
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This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
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To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burnt into my bosom's core;
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This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
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On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
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But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
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She shall press, ah, nevermore!
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Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
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Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
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"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee --- by these angels
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he hath sent thee
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Respite --- respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
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Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
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Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
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"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! --- prophet still, if bird
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or devil!---
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Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
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Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted---
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On this home by Horror haunted --- tell me truly, I implore---
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Is there --- is there balm in Gilead? --- tell me --- tell me,
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I implore!"
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Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
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"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! --- prophet still, if bird or devil!
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By that Heaven that bends above us --- by that God we both adore---
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Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
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It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore---
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Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
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Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
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"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked,
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upstarting---
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"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
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Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
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Leave my loneliness unbroken! --- quit the bust above my door!
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Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
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Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
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And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
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On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
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And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
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And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
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And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
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Shall be lifted --- nevermore.
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(Taken from "Edgar Allen Poe: Selected Prose and Poetry," revised
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edition, New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1950.) |