The Raven

by Edgar Allan Poe

Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had tried to borrow

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —

Darkness there, and nothing more.

“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!”

“Nevermore.”

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.