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"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee By these angels he hath sent thee Respite—respite and Nepenthe From thy memories of Lenore! Let me quaff this kind Nepenthe, And forget this lost Lenore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

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"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 —

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Clasp a rare and radiant maiden

Whom the angels name Lenore."

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

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