I'm going to be.

The 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 someone gently wrapping, wrapping at my chamber door.

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 named Lenore, nameless here, forevermore.

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 in treating entrance at my chamber door,

This is it, 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.

...