Once upon the midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

ever many acquainted and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone 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 its separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wish the morrow, vainly I had sought to borrow from my books or cease of sorrow.

Sorrow for the lost Lenore.

For the rare and radiant maid in whom the angels name Lenore,

nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sight and certain 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 and treating 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,

long I stood there wondering, fearing,

doubting, dreaming dreams, no mortal ever dare to dream before.

But the silence was unbroken and the stillness gave no token,

and the only word there spoken was the whispered word.

...