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 ebon 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 marveled 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 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, “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 Follow’d fast and follow’d 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!”