The Raven

On a mid-night tree, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume up for Gotten Lord, While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a daffin' as of someone gently rapping at my chamber door.

To some visitor, I'm out of topping at my chamber door, only this and nothing more. Oddest thing, I remember it was in the Pinky's Emperor and the separate dying Emperor Brought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished them were all vainly. I have sought to borrow from my books or cease of sorrow for the Lost One-Nore. For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore Lame less here for Edomar!

This peering flung as the dirt, They're wondering, Fearing, Daring, Dreaming, Dreaming, Snowmortal, Ever cleared to dream before. But the silence wasn't broken, And the steel-nescaped, No token, And the only words they're spoken, Was the whispered word, Linnor, This file whispered, And an echo, Burmer, Fact the word, Linnor, Merely this and nothing more!

On the shutter, When would many a cliff and flutter? In their stepped a stately raven of the same big days of your Not though these don't be since madey Not a mid-stopped or steady But with mean of lord or lady Pushed up on my chamber door Perked up on a bus of palace

Just above my chamber door Perced and sat and nothing more Then turned it core up I said our journal created As they grip and pace and trade, I'm wondering