The Raven / The Masque of the Red Death / The Cask of Amontillado

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,br/Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore– While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,br/As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “‘Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door–br/Only this and nothing more.”br/Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.br/Eagerly I wished the morrow;–vainly I had sought to borrowbr/From my books surcease of sorrow–sorrow for the lost Lenore–br/For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore–br/Nameless here for evermore.