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.