“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."

"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