Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," 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 visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visiter 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;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—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, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"—
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 window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never—nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light 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 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!
—Edgar Allan Poe
中譯版轉自維基百科：
《烏鴉》
一次午夜時，我疲憊不堪睏意濃，
稀奇古事揮不掉----
低頭小憩時，忽聞窗外叩拍聲，
好似有人輕輕把門敲----
心想必有來客訪----
為此無他響。
啊，我銘記那是在凄涼寒冬十二月；
灰死空留斷魂烙。
欲把情愁付書海，
難忘佳麗魂已銷----
舉世無雙窈窕女，安琪喚其叫勒諾----
香銷玉逝無人叫。
絲簾哀怨簌簌響，
莫名恐懼心頭涌；
屏息起身細思忖，
「過客欲求棲身所----
夜深探問把門敲，
為此無他響。」
霎時心定意堅不狐疑，開口來問尋，
「先生/夫人請見諒，
意懶心倦正自煩，
叩門之音未聽確，」
就此開門將客迎；
夜濃，無人影。
定足凝望，慢慢長夜心懸疑，
恰似幽夢初醒自難忘，
夜瀾無聲，靜寂無形，
唯我低聲喚勒諾，
凄然曠野映回聲----
為此無他響。
轉身回屋，心有餘悸難平息，
窗邊又起叩擊聲，陣陣不絕耳。
「始知屋外不明之物在眼前，
欲將個中究竟細細探----
安神初定前去找，
唯風無他響。」
捲簾開窗，鼓翼振翅飛入一烏鴉，
神態自若如智者；
不卑不亢，快若迅雷棲我處，
風度無人肖----
飛旋落定如玉女神帕拉絲----
宜棲宜坐巋不動。
但見其神情肅穆現高貴，
頓使我悲鬱情懷化笑顏，
「你貌若凡鳥而神自定，
讓我想起古之神鵲黃泉落，
敢問你彼岸尊姓和大名，」烏鵲答道「永不再會」。
其貌不揚一小鳥，吐字清晰令人奇，
縱然詞不搭意難自圓，
世人罕有此經歷，
有幸目睹它登門，
飛落室內神鵰塑，
自喚名曰「永不再會」。
只見它靜若雕像獨端坐，
傾注靈魂於斯語，
唯此不言也不動----
我低聲哀嘆「親朋皆逝我獨留----
明日它亦棄我而去無望還。」
烏鴉即和「永不再會」。
驚聞接語稱心又體貼，
始知其開口無他語，
必逢主人不幸遭磨難，
無奈常嘆此一言，
長歌當哭憂憤起，
感慨「永不再會」。
而我已是悲思轉笑顏，
側身就座其棲息處，
慵倦陷沉思，
揣度這隻亙古不祥鳥，
冷酷，笨拙，恐怖又憔悴，
緣和嘶叫「永不再會」。
我攢眉思忖不作響，
眼前它目光炯炯將我灼；
見我心馳神 態依舊，
燈下安然斜靠絲絨絲絨襯，
而今物是人非，縱心念佳人，
已是永不再會。
暗爐幽香漸撲鼻，
疑為輕盈天使一路來，
「竟是我主送你到身邊，
相贈忘憂物，解我心中千千結；
痛飲忘情水，換我痴情涌相忘。」
卻聞「永不再會」。
「無論你是鳥是魔，還是邪惡一先知，
不管你追隨撒旦抑或屈從風暴，孤身一人不畏懼----
我如今身處荒原神恍惚----
在這鬧鬼恐懼屋，懇切求爾語，
有否基列乳香將我醫？」
卻聞「永不再會」。
「無論你是鳥是魔，還是邪惡一先知，
看在我們頭頂共青天，上帝同膜拜，
解我心中愁，在那遠方樂土伊甸園，
我還能否相會夢中佳人名勒諾----
舉世無雙窈窕女，安琪喚其叫勒諾。」
卻聞「永不再會」。
「閉口休再提！」我心中怒火不可遏，
「你就此踏歸黃泉路！
收回滿口荒唐言！
使我莫煩擾！離我門上半身像！
與你不相干，快些飛離我！」
只見烏鴉絲毫未動依自若，
棲我門上如玉帕拉絲，
魔鬼神情眼中露，
幽暗身形燈光映，
心中隱痛難撫平。永遠不再會！
—埃德加·愛倫·坡
致不知名的朋友，感謝你花時間讀完。
Dear my anonymous friend, thank you for reading.
有緣再會。
Farewell.
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