По Эдгар Аллан
«Лирика»

gloated o'er,

But whose velvet-violet 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 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."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird

or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us - by that

God we both adore

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant

Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels

name Lenore

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels

name Lenore."

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!"

I shrieked, upstarting

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's

Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul

hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above

my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form

from off my door!"

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

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