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Copyright, 1895

By FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

Poems.

THE RAVEN.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pon

dered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of for

gotten lore,

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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 chamber door.

This it is, and nothing more."

at my

Presently my soul grew stronger : hesitating

then no longer,

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