The Raven
By Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I 
pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume 
of forgotten lore
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly 
there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at 
my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," 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. 