1845, February, Edgar Allan Poe, s:The American Review, Volume 1, February/The Raven, 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 farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before— On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
