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 on 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 im plore 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 of 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 Aн, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown for ever! Let the bell toll!-a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear?-weep now or never more! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore ! Come! let the burial rite be read-the funeral song De sung! An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young-- A dirge for her the doubly dead, in that she died so young. "Wretches! ye loved ner for her wealth and hated her for her pride, And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her--that she died! How shall the ritual, then, be read?—the requiem how be sung By you by yours, the evil eye-by yours, the slanderous tongue That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?" Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong! The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside, |