По Эдгар Аллан
The Raven

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   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 -
   '"Tis some visiter", I muttered, "tapping at my chamber
   door -
   Only this and nothing more."
  
   Ah, distinctly I remember 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.
  
   And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple
   curtain
   Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never
   felt before;
   So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood
   repeating
   "Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber
   door -
   Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber
   door; -
   This it is and nothing more."
  
   Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no
   longer,
   "Sir", said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness
   I implore;
   But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came
   rapping,
   And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my
   chamber door,
   That I scarce was sure I heard you" - here I opened
   wide the door; -
   Darkness there and nothing more.
  
   Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there
   wondering, fearing,
   Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared
   to dream before;
   But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave
   no token,
   And the only word there spoken was the whispered
   word, "Lenore?"
   This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the
   word, "Lenore!"
   Merely this and nothing more.
  
   Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me
   burning,
   Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than
   before.
   "Surely", said I, "surely that is something at my
   window lattice;
   Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery
   explore -
   Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery
   explore; -
   'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
  
   Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt
   and flutter,
   In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days
   of yore;
   Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped
   or stayed he;
   But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my
   chamber door -
   Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber
   door -
   Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
  
   Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into
   smiling,
   By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance
   it wore,
   "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou", I said,
   "art sure no craven,
   Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from
   the Nightly shore -
   Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's
   Plutonian shore!"
   Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
  
   Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse
   so plainly,
   Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy
   bore;
   For we cannot help agreeing that no living human
   being
   Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his
   chamber door -
   Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his
   chamber door,
   With such name as "Nevermore."
  
  
   But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke
   only
   That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did
   outpour.
   Nothing farther then he uttered - not a feather then
   he fluttered -
   Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have
   flown before -
   On the morrow _he_ will leave me, as my Hopes have
   flown before."
   Then the bird said "Nevermore."
  
   Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly
   spoken,
   "Doubtless", said I, "what it utters is its only stock
   and store
   Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful
   Disaster
   Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one
   burden bore -
   Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
   Of '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 linking
   Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird
   of yore -
   What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous
   bird of yore
   Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
  
   Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable
   expressing
   To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my
   bosom's core;
   This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease
   reclining
   On 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 censer
   Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the
   tufted floor.
   "Wretch", I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these
   angels he hath sent thee
   Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories
   of Lenore;
   Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost
   Lenore!"
   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 ashore
   Desolate 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 Heaven that bends above us - by that
   God we both adore -
   Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant
   Aidenn,
   It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels
   name Lenore -
   Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels
   name Lenore."
   Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
  
   "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!"
   I shrieked, upstarting -
   "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's
   Plutonian shore!
   Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul
   hath spoken!
   Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above
   my door!
   Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form
   from off my door!"
   Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
  
   And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is
   sitting
   On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber
   door;
   And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that
   is dreaming,
   And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his
   shadow on the floor;
   And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating
   on the floor
   Shall be lifted - nevermore!
   (1844-1849)
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