The Raven
Once, on a sad, dark midnight, while I sat thinking, weak and tired, over many strange old books, my head kept falling and I was nearly asleep. It was a cold December night, and the fire was slowly dying. Suddenly I heard a soft tapping at my bedroom door. “It’s some visitor,” I said quietly, “only this and nothing more.”
I had been reading to forget my sadness about Lenore, the rare and beautiful young woman I loved. The angels in heaven call her Lenore now. She was dead, and my books could not end my sadness. The soft, sad sound of the purple curtains moving filled me with strange fears that I had never felt before. To calm my beating heart, I kept saying again and again, “It’s only a late visitor at my door—that is all and nothing more.”
At last I felt braver, and I waited no longer. “Sir,” I said, “or Madam, please forgive me, I was sleeping, and you knocked so softly that I wasn’t sure I heard you.” Then I opened the door wide. There was darkness there and nothing more.
I stood there for a long time, looking deep into the darkness, afraid and full of strange dreams. But everything stayed silent, and nothing moved. I whispered only one word: “Lenore?” The same word came back to me in a whisper: “Lenore!” Only this and nothing more.
I turned back into my room, and my mind was full of strange feelings. Soon I heard a tapping again, a little louder than before. “Surely that is something at my window,” I said. “It’s only the wind and nothing more.”
I opened the window quickly, and with a noise of wings a large, proud raven stepped in like a lord. It did not bow to me, and it did not stop for a minute. It flew up and sat on a white statue of the goddess Pallas just above my door. It sat there, and nothing more.
The black bird looked so serious that I almost smiled. “You old Raven,” I said, “you have come here from the dark night. Tell me, what is your noble name?” The Raven said, “Nevermore.”
I was amazed to hear this ugly bird speak so clearly, although its answer did not mean very much. The Raven sat alone on the statue and said only that one word. It did not move a feather, until I said very quietly, “Other friends have left me before. Tomorrow he will leave me, as my hopes have left me.” Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”
“No doubt,” I said, “it is the only word it knows. It probably learned it from some unhappy master, whose songs all ended with the same sad words: ‘Never—nevermore.’”
I pulled a soft chair in front of the bird and the door. Sitting in it, I tried to understand what this terrible old bird meant when it said “Nevermore” in its rough voice. I said nothing, but its eyes, bright like fire, looked straight into my heart. I rested my head on the soft purple cushion under the lamp light. But on that cushion she will rest her head, ah, nevermore!
Then the air seemed to grow thicker, full of sweet perfume, as if angels were walking across the floor. “God has sent these angels to help me,” I cried. “Let me take their medicine and forget my lost Lenore!” The Raven said, “Nevermore.”
“You evil thing!” I said. “You know the future, bird or devil! Did the Devil send you, or did a storm throw you here? Tell me the truth, I beg you: is there any comfort for my pain?” The Raven said, “Nevermore.”
“You evil thing!” I said. “You know the future, bird or devil! By the heaven above us, tell me this. Far away in heaven, will I hold the young woman I loved, Lenore? Will I hold my rare and beautiful Lenore?” The Raven said, “Nevermore.”
“Let that word be our goodbye, bird or devil!” I screamed, jumping up. “Go back into the storm and the dark night! Leave me alone, and get off the statue above my door! Stop hurting my heart, and take yourself away from my door!” The Raven said, “Nevermore.”
And the Raven never leaves; it is still sitting, still sitting on the pale statue of Pallas just above my bedroom door. Its eyes look like the eyes of a devil in a dream. The lamp light throws its shadow on the floor. And my soul, from that shadow lying on the floor, will be lifted—nevermore!