Salina High School South - Mr. Edwards - Edgar Allen Poe

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 visiter," 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 last lenore —
for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 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 visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door —
some late visiter 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 stillness 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 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 upon 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 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."

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 fancy 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 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 seraphim whose foot — falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"wretch," I cried, "thy god hath lent thee — by these angels he hath 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 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 name lenore —
clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 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!

Devices of Sound: Alliteration, Internal Rhyme, Refrain

"The Raven" creates a hypnotic effect as it takes readers into the speaker's increasingly irrational world, where the question of what the raven means by its single repeated word seems a reasonable one. To some extent, readers must share that state of hallucination which makes the question meaningful to the speaker.

One device of sound that Poe uses to accomplish this hynotic effect is frequent alliteration, the repetition of consonant sounds, usually at the beginning of words: "nearly napping," "ghastly grim," "followed fast." A second device is internal rhyme, rhyme that occurs within a line. For example:

"Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered"

A third device is the use of a refrain, a phrase or line that is regularly repeated, usually at the end of a stanza. In "The Raven" the concluding line of each stanza is seven or eight syllables long, roughly half the length of the other lines, thereby drawing attention to itself. These final lines are different in content, but they all end with the word more, either alone or in combination. As the poem develops, this refrain accumulates ominous meaning, the variations disappear, and the last word, whether spoken by the raven or by the speaker, becomes insistently Nevermore.

The overall effect of these devices is to separate sounds from sense, to lull us into expecting a pattern of sounds that becomes more important than the actual meaning of the words, and thereby to persuade us that the speaker's story may actually be true. For example, line 38

"In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore"

presents the bird's action (its stepping in) and its appearance (stately), both of which we can accept as fact. But the rest of the line is purely subjective. There is no reason to assume, with the speaker that the bird has come, supernaturally, from a time long past. Nor is there reason to agree that those days were saintly. That past and its "forgotten lore" appear to be the source of the superstitions that dominate the speaker's mind and make him think of the bird as a "prophet" from the land of the dead. it is the alliteration "stepped . . . stately . . . saintly) that makes saintly seem an appropriate word. And "days of yore" has its place in the dominant rhyme-sound of the poem: door, floor, shore, core, wore, more, and so on. This hypnotic pattern of sounds gives the word Nevermore its special significance. As we are drawn into the poem in this way, we come to share the speaker's point of view, and accept his vision as reality.