Panoramy New York w dzień. Historia 7 z 14

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.
Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered –
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before –
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’

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