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Prophets said I, thing of evil. Prophets still, if bird or devil. By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore, Tell this soul of sorrow laden, if the queen of this to aid us, It shall clasp a saint and maiden, whom the angels name we know. Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name we know. Forth the raven, nevermore. Be that word our sign of pardon, bird or fiend, I shrieked upstarted. Fifty back into the tempest and the night's petrifying shore, Leave no black poon as a token of that lie that soul hath spoken. I shrieked upstarted.