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By the grave and stern decorum
Of the countenance it wore,
Wandering from the Nightly shore -
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly
Fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Little relevancy bore;
Bird above his chamber door-
With such name as “Nevermore.” But the Raven, sitting lonely
On that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in
That one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered; Not a feather then he fluttered — Till I scarcely more than muttered,
“ Other friends have flown before – On the morrow he will leave me, As my hopes have flown before.”
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken
By reply so aptly spoken, · Doubtless," said I, “what it utters
Is its only stock and store,
Till his songs one burden bore,
But the Raven still beguiling
All my sad soul into smiling,
Front of bird and bust and door;
What this ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing,
But no syllable expressing
Burned into my bosom's core;
That the lamplight gloated o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!