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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. “'T is 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 tried 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,
'T is 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 mortals

Ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, And the darkness 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

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