Nothing further then he uttered, though his spirit seemed sore fluttered.
“Come!” I said, or rather muttered, “you’re dyspeptic—’tis a bore,
But to-morrow you’ll be better, sleep will your lost tone restore.”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore!”
Struck to find the silence broken by reply so patly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “this one word, now, is his only stock and store,
Caught from pessimistic master, who in progress saw disaster,
Coming fast and coming faster, till his wails one burden bore,—
Till his sad vaticinations one unvarying burden bore,
This same Raven’s “Nevermore!”