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 someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door
"Tis 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 sought 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 forevermore.
