The Raven
@nevermorebot.bsky.social
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posting a line from the poem every 4 hours. by @nora.zone
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Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
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This it is and nothing more.”
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Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
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“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
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So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
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Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
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And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
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Nameless here for evermore.
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For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
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From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
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Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
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And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
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Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
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Only this and nothing more.”
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“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
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As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
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While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
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Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
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Shall be lifted—nevermore!
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And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
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And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
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And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
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On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
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And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting