THE RAVEN  (with lots of bizzarre formatting commands embedded)
Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten loreÑ
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
ÒÕTis some visitor,Ó I muttered, Òtapping at my chamber door:
	Only this, and nothing more.Ó

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 sorrowÑsorrow for the lost LenoreÑ
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name LenoreÑ
	Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain,
Thrilled meÑfilled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
ÒÕTis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber doorÑ
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door:
	This it is, and nothing more.Ó

Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,
ÒSir,Ó said I, Òor 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 youÓÑhere I opened wide the door;Ñ
	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 darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, ÒLenore!Ó
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word ÒLenore!Ó
	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.
ÒSurely,Ó said I, Òsurely that is something at my window-lattice;
Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery exploreÑ
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;Ñ
	ÔTis the wind, and nothing more!Ó

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 an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber doorÑ
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber doorÑ
	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,
ÒThough thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,Ó I said, Òart sure no
craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shore!
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the NightÕs Plutonian shore!Ó
	Quoth the Raven, ÒNevermore!Ó

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaningÑlittle relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber doorÑ
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
	With such name as ÒNevermore!Ó

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 utteredÑnot a feather then he flutteredÑ
Till I scarcely more than muttered, ÒOther friends have flown beforeÑ
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.Ó
	Then the bird said, ÒNevermore!Ó

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
ÒDoubtless,Ó said I, Òwhat 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 boreÑ
Till the dirges of his Hope one melancholy burden bore
	Of ÔNeverÑnevermore.ÕÓ

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul 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 yoreÑ
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
	Meant in croaking ÒNevermore.Ó

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosomÕs core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushionÕs velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated oÕer,
But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light gloating oÕer,
	She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer,
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
ÒWretch,Ó I cried, Òthy God hath lent theeÑby these angels he hath sent
thee
RespiteÑrespite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!Ó
	Quoth the Raven, ÒNevermore!Ó

ÒProphet!Ó said I, Òthing of evil!Ñprophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchantedÑ
On this home by Horror hauntedÑtell me truly, I imploreÑ
Is thereÑis there balm in Gilead?Ñtell meÑtell me, I implore!Ó
	Quoth the Raven, ÒNevermore.Ó

ÒProphet!Ó said I, Òthing of evil!Ñprophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above usÑby 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 LenoreÑ
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore.Ó
	Quoth the Raven, ÒNevermore.Ó

ÒBe that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!Ó I shrieked,
upstartingÑ
ÒGet thee back into the tempest and the NightÕs Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!Ñquit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!Ó
	Quoth the Raven, ÒNevermore.Ó

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 demonÕs that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light oÕer him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
	Shall be liftedÑnevermore!