Cette page n’a pas encore été corrigée
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 nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore !
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, 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 — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, I implore !”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
