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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 seperate 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 soul 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 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 a minute 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 decorus of the countenance it wore, 'Though thy crest shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, 'art sure no craven. Ghstly 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 outpor. 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 he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.' Started 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, ghastly, 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 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 Seraphim whose 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 thy 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 temptest 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 radient maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?' Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.' 'Be that word 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 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!
Fairy-Land Dim vales–and shadowy floods- And cloudy-looking woods, Whose forms we can't discover For the tears that drip all over! Huge moons there wax and wane- Again–again–again- Every moment of the night- Forever changing places- And they put out the star-light With the breath from their pale faces. About twelve by the moon-dial, One more filmy than the rest (A kind which, upon trial, They have found to be the best) Comes down–still down–and down, With its centre on the crown Of a mountain's eminence, While its wide circumference In easy drapery falls Over hamlets, over halls, Wherever they may be- O'er the strange woods–o'er the sea- Over spirits on the wing- Over every drowsy thing- And buries them up quite In a labyrinth of light- And then, how deep!–O, deep! Is the passion of their sleep. In the morning they arise, And their moony covering Is soaring in the skies, With the tempests as they toss, Like–almost anything- Or a yellow Albatross. They use that moon no more For the same end as before- Videlicet, a tent- Which I think extravagant: Its atomies, however, Into a shower dissever, Of which those butterflies Of Earth, who seek the skies, And so come down again, (Never-contented things!) Have brought a specimen Upon their quivering wings.
I used a video of Rob Zombie to compare with Edgar Allen Poe. When reading short stories or poems written by Poe, you'd think he would be creepy looking or scary, but he's not. When I first listened to Rob Zombie, I thought the same thing. So when I saw a picture of him, I was shocked to see he looks pretty normal, and nothing like I was expecting.
The Raven is about a man, the narrator, whose wife dies. In the poem, he is taking a nap when he's woken up to the sound of someone outside of his door. He is scared because he believes it Lenore, his deceased wife. When the raven comes in through his window, he believes the bird is from hell. The narrator also believes that the raven keeps saying "Nevermore", although its not. The raven saying "Nevermore" means that the narrator will never see his wife again. I think the poem Fairy-Land is about how life moves on even after death. Like he said in the poem, 'Huge moons there wax and wane- again -again-again' To me that sounds like no matter what, when someone dies, nature and people still move on. The Earth still revolves, and nothing really comes to a stop. I also believe he is talking about death because in the fourth line he says 'For the tears that drip all over!' I think over-all that in this poem, someone close to him has passed away and he sees how the moon and everything around him still moves on.
Edgar Allan Poe's House, now also a museum, and his gravesite in Maryland.
Edgar Allan Poe wrote about death a lot because he experienced it so much in his life. When he was young his mother died of tuberculosis, and so did his wife/cousin. Poe was also an alcoholic, and he seemed very depressed during his life. So he didn't really write about death because he obsessed over it, he wrote about it because of his experiences he had with it. When reading his poems, people tend to judge him as a creepy or scary guy, when he wasn't really. He just had a rough life, and in my eyes, he used his poems to explain it all.
Edgar Allan Poe
1. Imagery: ''And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor'' 2. Personification: ''Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.' Birds cannot talk. 3. Vocab. Word: Placid - ''But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust'' Placid-pleasantly calm or peaceful. 4. Vocab. Word: Ominous - ''Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore'' Ominous-portending evil or harm; threatening. 5. Illusion: ''Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn''
Literary Devices
