Synopsis

THE RAVEN. Once upon a midnight dreary, 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 some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door." 'T is some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—Only this, and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow:—vainly I had 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 for evermore.