Leave no black plume as a token 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 the lamplight o'er him streaming And my soul from out that shadow That lies floating on the floor nevermore! Shall be lifted |