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

“Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"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.”

“though I said art sure no craven vastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore, tell me why thy lordly name is on the nigts plutonium shore, quoth the raven "never more”

“If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it.I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigiland its head bent low with patience.The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish,and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds' nests,and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.”