Page:Southern Life in Southern Literature.djvu/247

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EDGAR ALLAN POE
229


As of someone 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 forevermore. 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 at my chamber door; This it is and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or 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 you " here I opened wide the door; 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;