Leave no black plume as a token
Of that lie thy soul hath spoken !
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! —
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 fitting,
Still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas
Just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming
Of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming
Throws his shadow on the floor,
And my soul from out that shadow
That lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted nevermore!