Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.

Did ever raven sing so like a lark That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?

Thou said'st--O, it comes o'er my memory As doth the raven o'er the infected house, Boding to all!--He had my handkerchief.

The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements.

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!"

And still 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 lamplight 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.