Pondered had this soul at my chamber door,
He sat weak and weary,quainted in this lore,
While I nodded,gaping air so old...
And then he rapped his fists in peacefull cold,
Still waiting at my chamber door...

And at the window, a raven used to flow,
But never flitting...or so much I recall,
My eyes must still be dreamin'of the dawn:
But not for long.There's tapping on my door!

A raven sat on steps so tall,
Surrounding him on naked stone
And the lamp-light over him,
Blindly throws his shadow on the floor,
Still waiting at my chamber door...