Blindrim

by Edgar Allan Poe (1845)   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 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 Leno