The Portable 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 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."\ 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,\ Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;\ But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,\ And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"\ This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —\  Merely this, and nothing more.\ Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,\ Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.\ "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:\ Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —\ Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —\  'Tis the wind and nothing more."\ Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,\ In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;\ Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;\ But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —\ Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —\  Perched, and sat, and nothing more.\ Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,\ By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.\ "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,\ Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —\ Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"\  Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."\ Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,\ Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;\ For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —\ Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,\  With such name as "Nevermore."\ But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.\ Nothing further then he uttered— not a feather then he fluttered —\ Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before —\ On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."\  Then the bird said, "Nevermore."\ Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,\ "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,\ Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —\ Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore\  Of 'Never — nevermore'."\ But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,\ Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;\ Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —\ What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore\  Meant in croaking "Nevermore."\ This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;\ This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,\ But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,\  She shall press, ah, nevermore!\ Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.\ "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"\  Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."\ "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —\ Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,\ Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —\ On this home by horror haunted— tell me truly, I implore —\ Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!"\  Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."\ "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil — prophet still, if bird or devil!\ By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore -\ Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,\ It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -\ Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."\  Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."\ "Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting —\ "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!\ Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!\ Leave my loneliness unbroken!— quit the bust above my door!\ Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"\  Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."\ And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;\ And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,\ And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;\ And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor\  Shall be lifted — nevermore!

The Portable Edgar Allan Poe Introduction by J. Gerald Kennedy Chronology A Note on Texts\ Tales\ Predicaments\ MS. Found in a Bottle (1832)\ A Descent into the Maelstrom (1841)\ The Masque of the Red Death (1842)\ The Pit and the Pendulum (1842)\ The Premature Burial (1844)\ The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar (1845)\ Bereavements\ The Assignation (1834)\ Berenice (1835)\ Morella (1835)\ Ligeia (1838)\ The Fall of the House of Usher (1839)\ Eleonora (1841)\ The Oval Portrait (1842)\ Antagonisms\ Metzengerstein (1832)\ William Wilson (1839)\ The Tell-Tale Heart (1843)\ The Black Cat (1843)\ The Imp of the Perverse (1845)\ The Cask of Amontillado (1846)\ Hop-Frog (1849)\ Mysteries\ The Man of the Crowd (1840)\ The Murders in the Rue Morgue (1841)\ The Gold-Bug (1843)\ The Oblong Box (1844)\ A Tale of the Ragged Mountains (1844)\ The Purloined Letter (1844)\ Grotesqueries\ The Man That Was Used Up (1839)\ The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether (1845)\ Some Words with a Mummy (1845)\ Poems\ The Lake—To—(1827)\ Sonnet—To Science (1829)\ Fairy-Land (1829)\ Introduction (1831)\ "Alone" (1875)\ To Helen (1831)\ The Sleeper (1831)\ Israfel (1831)\ The Valley of Unrest (1831)\ The City in the Sea (1831)\ Lenore (1843)\ Sonnet—Silence (1840)\ Dream-Land (1844)\ The Raven (1845)\ Ulalume—A Ballad (1847)\ The Bells (1849)\ A Dream within a Dream (1849)\ For Annie (1849)\ Eldorado (1849)\ To My Mother (1849)\ Annabel Lee (1849)\ Letters\ To John Allan, March 19, 1827\ To John Allan, December 22, 1828\ To John Allan, January 3, 1831\ To John Allan, April 12, 1833\ To Thomas W. White, April 30, 1835\ To Maria and Virginia Clemm, August 29, 1835\ To Philip P. Cooke, September 21, 1839\ To William E. Burton, June 1, 1840\ To Joseph Evans Snodgrass, April 1, 1841\ To Frederick W. Thomas, June 26, 1841\ To Frederick W. Thomas, February 3, 1842\ To T. H. Chivers, September 27, 1842\ To Frederick W. Thomas and Jesse E. Dow, March 16, 1843\ To James Russell Lowell, March 30, 1844\ To Maria Clemm, April 7, 1844\ To James Russell Lowell, July 2, 1844\ To Evert A. Duyckinck, November 13, 1845\ To Virginia Poe, June 12, 1846\ To Philip P. Cooke, August 9, 1846\ To N. P. Willis, December 30, 1846\ To Marie L. Shew, January 29, 1847\ To George W. Eveleth, January 4, 1848\ To George W. Eveleth, February 29, 1848\ To Sarah Helen Whitman, October 1, 1848\ To Annie L. Richmond, November 16, 1848\ To Frederick W. Thomas, February 14, 1849\ To Maria Clemm, July 7, 1849\ To Maria Clemm, September 18, 1849\ Critical Principles\ On Unity of Effect On Plot in Narrative On the Prose Tale On the Design of Fiction The Object of Poetry (from "Letter to B—")\ "The Philosophy of Composition"\ The Effect of Rhyme\ "The Poetic Principle" (excerpts)\ American Criticism\ Observations\ Literary Nationalism\ "Some Secrets of the Magazine Prison-House"\ American Literary Independence The Soul and the Self Imagination and Insight Poetical Irritability Genius and Proportionate Intellect Reason and Government Adaptation and the Plots of God Works of Genius National Literature and Imitation Language and Thought Magazine Literature in America The Name of the Nation The Unwritable Book Imagination Art and the Soul Superiority and Suffering Matter, Spirit, and Divine Will\ Notes Selected Bibliography