“And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted -- Nevermore!”

“And the Raven, never flitting, 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 lamp-light 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!”

“Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”

“Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!Let the bell toll!-a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?-weep now or 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- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.”

“Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor."Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee--Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"Quothe the Raven, "Nevermore.”

“Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.”