Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, / In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; / Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; / But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door — / Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door — / Perched, and sat, and nothing more.