Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten love,
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, "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 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 name Lenore-
nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain 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 entreating entrance at my chamber door-
This it is, and nothing more".
