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 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.
On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, they classic face, Thy naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.