Literature Quiz / Rhyming Lines in the Raven

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Can you complete the rhymes in the Raven?

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Once upon a midnight
While I pondered, weak and
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten
While I nodded, nearly
Suddenly there came a
As of someone gently
Rapping at my chamber
'Tis some visitor', I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber
'Only this and nothing
Ah, distinctly I
It was in the bleak
And each separate dying
Wrought its ghost upon the
Eagerly I wished the
Vainly I had sought to
From my books surcease of
Sorrow for the lost
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name
Nameless here for
And the silken, sad,
Rustling of each purple
Thrilled me-- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt
So that now, to still the
Of my heart I stood
'Tis some visitor
Entrance at my chamber
Some late visitor
Entrance at my chamber
This it is and nothing
Presently my soul grew
Hesitating then no
'Sir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your forgiveness I
But the fact is I was
And so gently you came
And so faintly you came
Tapping at my chamber
That I scarce was sure I heard you' -- here I opened wide the
Darkness there and nothing
Deep into that darkness
Long I stood there wondering,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream
But the silence was
And the stillness gave no
And the only word there
Was the whispered word,
This I whispered and an echo murmured back the word,
Merely this and nothing
Back into the chamber
All my soul within me
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than
'Surely', said I, 'Surely
Something at my window
Let me see, then, what
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And this mystery
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery
'Tis the wind and nothing
Open here I flung the
When with many a flirt and
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of
Not the least obeisance
Not a minute stopped or
But with mien of lord or
Perched above my chamber
Perched upon a bust of pallas just above my chamber
Perched, and sat, and nothing
Then this ebony bird
My sad fancy into
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it
'Though thy crest be shorn and
Thou,' I said, 'art sure no
Ghastly grim and ancient
Wandering from the Nightly
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian
Quoth the Raven,
Much I marvelled this
Fowl to hear discourse so
Though its answer little meaning-- little relevancy
For we cannot help
That no living human
Ever yet was blessed with
Bird above his chamber
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber
With such name as
But the Raven, sitting
On the placid bust, spoke
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did
Nothing farther then he
Not a feather then he
Till I scarcely more than
'Other friends have flown
On the morrow, he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown
Then the bird said,
Startled at the stillness
By reply so aptly
'Doubtless,' said I, 'what it utters is its only stock and
Caught from some unhappy
Whom unmerciful
Followed fast and followed
Till his songs one burden
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden
Of 'Never--
But the Raven still
All my fancy into
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and
Then, upon the velvet
I betook myself to
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Fancy unto fancy,
What this ominous bird of
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of
Meant in croaking,
This I sat engaged in
But no syllable
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's
This and more I sat
With my head at ease
On the cushion's velvet
That the lamplight gloated
But whose velvet-violet
With the lamplight gloating
She shall press, ah,
Then, methought, the air grew
Perfumed from an unseen
Swung by Seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted
'Wretch,' I cried, 'Thy God hath
By these angels he hath
Respite--respite and
From thy memories of
Quaff, oh, quaff this kind
And forget this lost
Quoth the Raven,
'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of
Prophet still if bird or
Whether Tempter sent or whether tempest tossed thee here
Desolate yet all
On this desert land
On this home by Horror
Tell me, truly, I
Is there-- is there balm in Gilead?-- tell me-- tell me, I
Quoth the Raven,
'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of
Prophet still if bird or
By that heaven that bends above us-- by that God we both
Tell this soul with sorrow
If, within the distant
It shall clasp a sainted
Whom the angels name
Clasp a rare and radiant
Whom the angels name
Quoth the Raven,
And the Raven, never
Still is sitting, STILL is
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber
And his eyes have all the
Of a demon's that is
And the lamplight o'er him
Throws his shadow on the
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the
Shall be lifted--

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