human
Can you continue this poem for me?
  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, by
_All rights reserved._
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore."
"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."
"''T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.'"
--"Here I opened wide the door;--
"Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."
--"A stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
"Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more."
"Wandering from the Nightly shore." _Frederick Juengling._
"Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
"But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
_She_ shall press, ah, nevermore!"
"'Tell me truly, I implore--
"'Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
"move fantastically
To a discordant melody:"
while everywhere are
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by."
"to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation, and a name."
"Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
No rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently--
Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathéd friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea--
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene."
"And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings--
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings."
"Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster--so, when Hope he would adjure,
"With a murmurous stir uncertain, in the air, the purple curtain
Swelleth in and swelleth out around her motionless pale brows,"
found an echo in these:
"And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before."
"Restless I pace our lonely rooms, I play our songs no more,
The garish sun shines flauntingly upon the unswept floor;
The mocking-bird still sits and sings, O melancholy strain!
For my heart is like an autumn-cloud that overflows with rain;
Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore!"
"The raven, too, * * * might have been made, more than we now see
"shrieking at her window thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing,
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
The solemn boding sound."
Underneath that calm white forehead, are ye ever burning torrid
O'er the desolate sand-desert of my heart and life undone?'"
"O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware."
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.
"'T is 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
"'T is 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,
assistant
Sure, a continuation for this poem could be:
  But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness 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 my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'T is the wind and nothing more!"
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,
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
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.
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
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 lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
_She_ shall press, ah, nevermore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--
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."
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
Shall be lifted--nevermore!
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore."
"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."
"Sorrow for the lost Lenore."
"For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore."
"'T is some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door."
"Here I opened wide the door;--
Darkness there, and nothing more."
"Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."
"Open here I flung the shutter."
... "A stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
"Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more."
"Wandering from the Nightly shore."
"Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy."
"But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
_She_ shall press, ah, nevermore!"
"On this home by Horror haunted."
... "Tell me truly, I implore--
"Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor