Then methought the air grew denser,
Perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by angels whose faint footfalls
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!
Let me quaff this kind Nepenthe,
And forget this lost Lenore!”