stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
«Doubtless», said I, "what it utters is its only stock and storeCaught from some unhappy master whom unmercifulDisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden boreOf 'Never – nevermore.'"But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yoreMeant in croaking «Nevermore.»Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,She shall press, ah, nevermore!Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.«Wretch», I cried, "thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he hath sent theeRespite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lostLenore!"Quoth the Raven «Nevermore.»«Prophet!» said I, "thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! -Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashoreDesolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -On this home by Horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore -Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!"Quoth the Raven «Nevermore.»«Prophet!» said I, "thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!By that