Page:Poems that every child should know (ed. Burt, 1904).djvu/328

290 "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah! distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,

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 the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple 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 visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door:

This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;