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
Follow’d fast and follow’d 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 all my sad soul into smiling,