THE RAVEN （V）

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch,"I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite—respite and nepenthé from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthé, 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—isthere 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."