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 Leonore –
For the rare and radiant maiden who the angels name Lenore –
Nameless here for evermore.
Edgar Allan Poe