Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of potions lore-

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some dunderhead," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-

Only this and nothing more."

 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was on October thirty-first;

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 my lost love, Lily-

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lily-

Nameless here for evermore.

 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each emerald 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 dunderhead entreating entrance at my chamber door-

Or even Dumbledore entreating entrance at my chamber door;-

This it is and nothing more."

 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Ravenclaw," said I, "or Slytherin, truly your disrespect I affirm;

Oh, the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

It better be important,"-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;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lily?"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lily!"-

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.

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my office entrance;

Let me see, then, what it is, and this mystery explore-

Let me take this calming draft now and this mystery explore;-

'Tis brash Peeves and nothing more!"

 

Open here I flung the door, when, with many a start and stutter,

In there stepped young Harry Potter, the son of my lost Lily;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, sat upon my favorite chair-

Sat upon an emerald cushion right upon my favorite chair-

Sat, and stared, and nothing more.

 

Then this conceited child beguiling my sad fancy into smirking,

By the memories brought to mind by his hair so like my nemesis,

"Though your face be like James Potter's, you," I said, "art sure a craven,

Ghastly boy who often wanders from the home of Gryffindors-

Tell me what thy absurd excuse is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

Quoth the child "Nevermore."

 

Much I marvelled this awkward boy to hear such cheek so plainly,

Though his answer little meaning-little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was cursed with seeing wretched child in his favorite chair-

Gryffindor upon the emerald cushion upon his favorite chair,

With such cheek as "Nevermore."

 

But the child, sitting lonely on the placid chair, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered-not a cloak or robe he fluttered-

Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other foes have flown before-

On the morrow he will leave me, as my dreams have flown before."

Then the boy said "Nevermore."

 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "what he utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some insane prankster whom unmerciful Disaster

Follows fast and follows faster till my cauldrons sheen and shimmer-

Till the dirges of his work make my cauldrons sheen and shimmer

for ‘ever-evermore'."

 

But ‘twas Harry still beguiling all my fancy into smirking,

Straight I conjured another seat in front of boy, a dreadful Gryffindor;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this bad-mannered child of Lily-

What this vile, ungainly, appalling, gaunt, and bad-mannered child of Lily

Meant in speaking "Nevermore."

 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the boy whose emerald eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head in chin reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,

But whose velvet-emerald lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

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.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite-respite and nepenthe from my memories of Lily;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget my lost Lily!"

Quoth the child "Nevermore."

 

"Potter!" said I, "thing of evil!-Potter still, if boy or devil!-

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed you here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, in my chamber room enchanted-

On this home by Horror haunted-tell me truly, I implore-

Is there-do you have the resurrection stone?-tell me-tell me, I implore!"

Quoth the child "Nevermore."

 

"Potter!" said I, "thing of evil!-Potter still, if boy or devil!

By that castle that bends above us-by Merlin whom we both adore-

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, beyond the distant veil,

I shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lily-

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lily."

Quoth the child "Nevermore."

 

"Be that word our sign of parting, boy or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting-

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black thread as a token of that lie your soul has spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!-quit the cushion upon my chair!

Take your eyes from out my heart, and take your form right out my door!"

Quoth the child "Nevermore."

 

And the child, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the emerald cushion right upon my favorite chair;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light 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!