The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

              Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

              While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

              As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

              "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door --

                    Only this, and nothing more."

              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 Lenore --

              For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore --

                    Nameless here for evermore.

              And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

              Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

              So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

              "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door --

              Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; --

                    This it is, and nothing more,"

              Presently my heart grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

              "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

              But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

              And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

              That I scarce was sure I heard you" -- here I opened wide the door; --

                    Darkness there, and nothing more.

              Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

              Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream to dream before;

              But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

              And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"

              This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!"

                    Merely this and nothing more.

              Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

              Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

              "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;

              Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore --

              Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; --

                    'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

              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 an instant 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.

              Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

              By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

              "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven.

              Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore --

              Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

                    Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

              Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

              Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore;

              For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

              Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door --

              Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

                    With such name as "Nevermore."

              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."

              Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

              "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,

              Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

              Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore --

              Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

                    Of 'Never-nevermore.'"

              But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

              Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;

              Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

              Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --

              What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

                    Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

              This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

              To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

              This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

              On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,

              But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

                    She shall press, ah, nevermore!

              Then, methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

              Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

              "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee

              Respite - respite and nepenthe from the memories of Lenore!

              Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"

                    Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

              "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil! --

              Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

              Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted --

              On this home by Horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --

              Is there -- is there balm in Gilead? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"

                    Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

              "Prophet!' said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil!

              By that Heaven that bends above us -- by that God we both adore --

              Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

              It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore --

              Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?"

                    Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

              "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting --

              "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

              Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

              Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!

              Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"

                    Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

              And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

              On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

              And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

              And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

              And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

                    Shall be lifted -- nevermore.

I was originally assigned to read this poem in 6th grade and it was the first Poe poem I had ever read. At that age, I had no idea what this piece was about. Yet, the poem had such an ominous tone that I was frightened by it. It was one of the first poems I had been truly affected by (perhaps because all I had read up to that point was Shel Silverstein). I chose this poem because I wanted to learn more about it. Turns out, there's a lot more to it than just a scary story. Poe wrote this during the time that his wife was dying of Tuberculosis, and it reflects his struggle with her imminent death. He uses a number of literary devices in the piece to convey his message:

Alliteration:

 “silken sad uncertain rustling” (13)

“So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating” (15)

- Poe uses a lot of sharp or hissing consonants in the poem. (i.e. no d’s or b’s or f’s or the like) to make the poem dark, eerie, and ominous. He emphasizes these consonants through alliterations that really convey the dark tone of the piece.

Assonance:

“It shall clasp a sainted maiden” (94)

"prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil!" (85)

The second example clearly shows Poe's use of assonance to create a particular mood. By using a short "i" sound (prophET, evIL, prophET, stILL, IF, BIRD, deVIL), he creates a discontinuous, almost broken sentence that creates an uncomfortable, depressive mood. 

Allegory:

“Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door” (41)

- Pallas Athena, the Goddess of wisdom, is used here to illustrate the author’s belief that the raven was speaking from knowledge and not repetition. Thus leading him to anguish, and eventually self realization, that his Lenore is gone forever.