Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door— 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. The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe
