The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
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 visitor," 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 visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor 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 further 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 all my 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."
This 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 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!
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 in 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!
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 visitor," 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 visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor 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 further 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 all my 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."
This 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 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!
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 in 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!
EDGAR ALLAN POE: HAVRAN
Jednou o půlnoci, má horečku a rozjímaje nad divnými svazky vědy prastaré a záslužné – když jsem klímal v polospaní, ozvalo se znenadání velmi jemné zaťukání na dveře – a pak už ne. "Je to návštěva či zdání, bylo to tak nezvučné - jednou jen a pak už ne." Ach, už při vzpomínce blednu! Myslím, že to bylo v lednu, každý uhlík vrhal stín jen proudé mně a dál už ne.
Toužil jsem po kuropění; - marně hledaje ve svém čtení usnadnění od hoře nad Lenorou - již poslušné světice zvou Lenora - nad jménem dívky nadvzdušné, která byla mou a teď už ne. Smutný šelest záclon vlaje z hedvábí a ohýbá je s hrůzou - už jsem do té doby nepoznal ani přibližně; abych skryl své polekání, říkal jsem si bez ustání: "Je to host, jenž znenadání zaklepal tak neslyšně - pozdní host, který znenadání zaklepal tak neslyšně - jednou jen a pak už ne."
Tady má duše vzmužila se; řek jsem bez rozpaků v hlase: "Prosím, pane, nebo paní, odpusťte mi velmožně; nicméně, byl jsem v polospání, když jste přišel znenadání, proslechl jsem zaklepání - je to skoro nemožné, že jste klepal vy" - a pak otevřen jsem úslužně - vně tma a víc už ne. Hledě dlouho do tmy z prahu, stojí v pochybách a ve strachu, dlouho snil jsem, jak si nikdo netroufal snít mimo mě; ale ticho bez rušení, ani slůvka na znamení, jenom plaché oslovení "Lenoro!" zní zimničně, to já šeptám "Lenoro!" - a ozvěna zní zimničně jen to a víc už ne. Vrátil jsem se do pokoje, velmi divě se a boje, když jsem zaslechl trochu silněji nový šramot poblíž mně. "Jistě cos za chumelenice padlo mi na okenice; podívám se ze světnice, co jsi zač, kdo budíš mně - ztlumím na okamžik srdce, najdu tě, kdo budíš mně;" - vítr a nic jiného už ne.
Vyrazil jsem okenici, když tady s velkou motanicí vstoupil starodávný havran z dob, které jsou tak záslužné; bez poklony, bez váhání, vznešeně jak pán či paní usadil se znenadání v póze velmi výhružné na poprsí Pallady – a v póze velmi výhružné si sedl jen a víc už ne. Pták ve svém ebenovém zjevu nabízel mně do úsměvu vážným, přísným chováním, které bylo velmi vybráno - "Jestli ti lysá chochol v chůzi, jistě nejsi havran hrůzy, který se z podsvětního šera v bludné pouti namane - řekni mi své pravé jméno !" - Havran děl: "Už víckrát ne."
Žasl jsem nad nevzhledem ptáka, který tak bez okolků kráká bezobsažnou odpověď, která prozrazuje bezradné; velmi dobře vím, že není skoro ani k uvěření pták či zvíře, které si lení v póze velmi záhadné na poprsí nade dveřmi - v póze velmi záhadné a říká si: "Už víckrát ne." Potom, sedě na mramoru, ustal havran v rozhovoru jako duše v jedno slovo samotářsky zabrané - až jsem si řek v duchu, takže nedošlo mu to až ke sluchu: "Věřím pevně na předtuchu, osud často okraď mně - jak mé naděje, i on se k ránu odtud vykrade." Však havran dí: "Už víckrát ne."
Zaražen, an na mně hledí s přiléhavou odpovědí, říkám si: "Toť bezpochyby pochytí velmi obratně od pána, jehož osud vedl neštěstím a navždy svedl, takže nic už nedovedl zpívat než ty bezradné - pohřební a smutné písně, refrény, tak bezradné je: Už víckrát ne!"
Když však havran bez ustání nabízel mně k usmívání, přistrčil jsem křeslo mysli, že mě něco napadne, když se vhroužím do sametu ve vzpomínkách na tu větu, přemýšleje, co as je tady, nad čím řek své bezradné, nad čím příšerný ten pták zde říká své bezradné "již víckrát ne". Tak jsem seděl nad dohady, mlčky, marně, bez nálady pod ptákem, který v hloubi prsou nepřestával bodat mně, klesl jsem s zamyšlenou tváří do polštáře, na níž padá lampa, v záři matné, mdlé a malátné, ale do níž nevboří své ruce, mdlé a malátné, ona víckrát, víckrát ne.
Zdálo se, že u stínidla houstne světlo od kadidla, že se bezpochyby anděl ve zvoncích z nebe propadne. "Chudáku, tůj Bůh ti ve zpěvu posilá sem pro úlevu balzám na tvou starou něhu, po němž navždy vychladne, po němž láska k Lenoře ve tvé mysli navždy zapadne" - nicméně havran děl: "Už vícekrát ne."
"Proroku," dím, "méně tekl, nech jsi pták nebo z pekel, synu podsvětí, a přece proroku, pojď hádat mně - statečně, být opuštěn žiji zaklet v této zemi, dům mám hrůzou obklíčený, zda tvá věštba uhá balzám ve smrti, zda tvá věštba uhodne" - havran dí: "Už víckrát ne."
"Proroku," dím, "méně tekl, nech jsi pták nebo nebe z pekel, při nebi, které nad nami je, u Boha, který láká mně, řvou tvou duši, které žal tají, zdáli alespoň jednou v ráji zde, již svatí nazývá Lenora, kdy přivine, jasnou dívku Lenoru kdy v náruči své přivině" - havran dí: "Už víckrát ne."
„To jsi řekl jistě na znamení, že se chystáš k rozloučení, táhni zpátky do bouře a do podsvětí, satanu! mého srdce, opusť sochu, havrany!" Havran dí: "Už víckrát ne." Pak se klidně u lebedí, stále sedí, stále sedí jako ďábel na bělostných ňadrech Pallas Athény; oči ve snění přimhouřeny na pozadí bílé stěny, lampa vrhá beze změny jeho stín, jímž uhrane - a má duše z toho stínu, jímž mně navždy uhrane, nevzchopí se - víckrát ne.