HOME:   Entire,   Cues 4, 3 , 2, 1,   Ends 3, 2 ,   Gaps 4 , 5, 6,   Openers
 Once upon a                                   weak and weary,
 Over many a                           of forgotten lore,
 While I nodded,                                came a tapping,
 As of some                                my chamber door.
 `'Tis some visitor,'                            chamber door -
 Only this, and nothing more.'

 Ah, distinctly I                    the bleak December,
 And each separate                               upon the floor.
 Eagerly I wished                            sought to borrow
 From my books                                     lost Lenore -
 For the rare                                    named Lenore -
 Nameless here for evermore.

 And the silken                           each purple curtain
 Thrilled me -                                  never felt before;
 So that now,                                   I stood repeating
 `'Tis some visitor                           chamber door -
 Some late visitor                           chamber door; -
 This it is, and nothing more,'

 Presently my soul                           then no longer,
 `Sir,' said I,                       forgiveness I implore;
 But the fact                                 you came rapping,
 And so faintly                              my chamber door,
 That I scarce                                            the door; -
 Darkness there, and nothing more.

 Deep into that                                there wondering, fearing,
 Doubting, dreaming dreams                      to dream before
 But the silence                                gave no token,
 And the only                           whispered word, `Lenore!'
 This I whispered,                           the word, `Lenore!'
 Merely this and nothing more.

 Back into the                              within me burning,
 Soon again I                          louder than before.
 `Surely,' said I,                              my window lattice;
 Let me see                                 mystery explore -
 Let my heart                            mystery explore; -
 'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

 Open here I                                      flirt and flutter,
 In there stepped                                days of yore.
 Not the least                                         or stayed he;
 But, with mien                                   chamber door -
 Perched upon a                              chamber door -
 Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

 Then this ebony                       fancy into smiling,
 By the grave                          countenance it wore,
 `Though thy crest                                          sure no craven.
 Ghastly grim and                                  nightly shore -
 Tell me what                           Night's Plutonian shore!'
 Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 Much I marvelled                            discourse so plainly,
 Though its answer                  little relevancy bore;
 For we cannot                       living human being
 Ever yet was                                    chamber door -
 Bird or beast                                 his chamber door,
 With such name as `Nevermore.'

 But the raven,                              bust, spoke only,
 That one word,                                 he did outpour.
 Nothing further then                                 he fluttered -
 Till I scarcely                                        flown before -
 On the morrow                               have flown before.'
 Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

 Startled at the                           so aptly spoken,
 `Doubtless,' said I,                             stock and store,
 Caught from some                whom unmerciful disaster
 Followed fast and                                    burden bore -
 Till the dirges                  melancholy burden bore
 Of "Never-nevermore."'

 But the raven                            soul into smiling,
 Straight I wheeled                                       bust and door;
 Then, upon the                          myself to linking
 Fancy unto fancy,                                 of yore -
 What this grim,                                       bird of yore
 Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

 This I sat                          no syllable expressing
 To the fowl                                  my bosom's core;
 This and more                              at ease reclining
 On the cushion's                        lamp-light gloated o'er,
 But whose velvet                        lamp-light gloating o'er,
 She shall press, ah, nevermore!

 Then, methought, the                                an unseen censer
 Swung by Seraphim                             the tufted floor.
 `Wretch,' I cried,                                              has sent thee
 Respite - respite                       memories of Lenore!
 Quaff, oh quaff                                this lost Lenore!'
 Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 `Prophet!' said I,                                          or devil! -
 Whether tempter sent,                           thee here ashore,
 Desolate yet all                           land enchanted -
 On this home                                    I implore -
 Is there -                                           me, I implore!'
 Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 `Prophet!' said I,                                     bird or devil!
 By that Heaven                                      both adore -
 Tell this soul                              the distant Aidenn,
 It shall clasp                                  named Lenore -
 Clasp a rare                              angels named Lenore?'
 Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 `Be that word                                        shrieked upstarting -
 `Get thee back                          Night's Plutonian shore!
 Leave no black                                  soul hath spoken!
 Leave my loneliness                           above my door!
 Take thy beak                                           off my door!'
 Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 And the raven,                                   still is sitting
 On the pallid                           my chamber door;
 And his eyes                                   that is dreaming,
 And the lamp-light                                      on the floor;
 And my soul                                         on the floor
 Shall be lifted - nevermore!