Riddle 41

Ah, distinctly I remember
’T was my first and not December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor,

Eagerly I wished the morrow,
Vainly I had sought to borrow
In my last, surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore.

For my whole so rare and radiant,
Whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here forevermore.