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.


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