Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten law.

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, wrapping 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 wr brought 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,

nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sat on 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 to 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 there no longer.

Sir, said I, or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore, but the fact is I was napping and so gently you came wrapping 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 mortal ever dared to dream before.

...