Gone-gone the vision! from my sight it bore
My lost, my found, my ever loved Lenore!
Forgotten scenes of happy infant years,
My mother's hymns around my cradle-bed,
Memories of vesper bell and matin chimes,
Of priests and incensed altars, dimly waked.
The fierce eye of the Raven dimmed and quailed,
His burnished plumage drooped, yet, full of hate,
Began he still his 'wildering shriek-'Lenore!'
When, lo! the Dove broke in upon his cry-
She, too, had found a voice for agony;
Calmly it fell from heaven's cerulean shore:
'Lenore! Lenore! forever-evermore!'
Soon as the Raven heard the silvery tones,
Lulling as gush of mountain-cradled stream,
With maddened plunge he fell to rise no more,
And, in the sweep of his Plutonian wings,
Dashed to the earth the bust of Pallas fair.
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