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 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 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 mortals 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 blest 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 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.”
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 lamplight gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls 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 in 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 lamplight 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!
The Raven is an outstanding poem by such a great poet Mr.Edgar Allen Poe.I love all of his poems,but this one favors me alot!I think it should be a book or something ’cause it is an awesome poem no matter what!!! The reason why would be because it is about a raven,but that isn’t what I liked about this poem,it is what the raven says,I quote “No more forever more.”
can enyone tell me were to find the viewable simpsonsversion of the raven
i think the poem’s about his wife dieing and a raven knocks on his door, continuosly saying “nevermore” because he could “nevermore” see his wife again, or talk to her.. etc
i really love ur books they rule. i no ur dead but wen i die plz tell me who keeps comin 2 ur grave on ur b-day and puts 1 rose and some scotch on ur grave. deal deal
sup dog. its ur boy the c man. ya dats rite the c man! u c dog i read ur poem the raven dog it blew me away. really i freakin fell out of my seat u hear. that guy was like freaky man like he was on the hop man. u may b dead but yo books, dog they off the chain!!!! rock on
this poem is so awsome dude. i no ur dead but this is sooooooooooooooo creepy …….but in a way …………. its creepy. anyway its so cool. the poem lenore is pretty cool 2. i saw a different version of it on tv. the different version was ok. rock on my hommie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I love this poem.I love pretty much most dark poetry but this is still my favorite poem, although i read it about two years ago. i can imagine all of it in my head perfectly.overall, this is probably my favorite poem.
I love this poem. I love dreary stuff like that, and I love to read spooky stuff too. I’m not Goth or anything I just think stuff like that is interesting and fun to read. I am actually great friends with a Goth though. His names Garrett Weikel. bye
the raven is my favorite poem, everytime i read it i just drift away into my own world, Edgars world, that he creates with his poetry. thou thinkst not that any other man could write such sweet melodies, yet such a terrifying story, all with detail contained inside, just waiting to be read, so it mayst be released, and be free, with none other then the world
I think this poem is so great. Poe had a really tough life..(here’s some background info on him that you might not have known) Poe’s mom died when he was just 3 years old of Tuberculosis.( i tihnk that’s how you spell it) and his father was an alcoholic and abandonded him. well he went to go live with foster parents. and then his foster mother died of the same disease his mother did. He never really had a father figure in his life. Poe got married to his cousin..Lenore (the name mentioned in his poem..his sweetheart) when lenore was just 13 years old and he was 27. but that was pretty common to do back then. his wife was sick for 5 long years..and he wrote The Raven in the next room over from where his poor wife was on her deathbed. She died when she was 24 of tuberculosis also. the same age his mother died. I think poe felt he was cursed and had bad luck because it seemed like every woman he loved died. I think his life was just tragic. If you read any of his short stories (for example The Pit and The Pendulum and Tell Tale Heart) you can really see how he uses alot of things to symbolize his life. such as when he disembles the body of the old man in Tell Tale Heart. I could be wrong about this..but i think it symbolizes his life..being torn apart piece by piece, and in pit and the pendulum..the blade is swinging by him..right above him..he suffers a slow and painful death..i think this symbolizes Poe’s life also..everyone around him dieing a slow and painful death..and also himself. Dying lonely and slowly. These are just some of my opinions..we’ve been researching Poe a bit in my english class and i felt like doing some extra work on this poem..The Raven..its very difficult to understand..so if anyone can help me with it..like their opinions i tihnk i might be able to form my own. I’m going to go and reread it a couple of times again. thanks a bunch!
it’s lovely, gorgoues, wonderful, marvelous, nifty, splendid, and clever. yes! i am having trouble with picturing the violet chair though. velvet violet lining. it doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of my fabricated grim and austere surroundings…makes an interesting scene, though… (and i would love to see Mr. andrew dickinson’s work someday…though mayhap tis a bit presumptious to say you are better than my darling poe…but then again, you very well may be…)
it’s so beautiful and haunting…
huzzah for poe the radtastic!!!!!!!!!
This is the best poem ever written! Edgar Poe was a Genius and he is my favourite poet. I will love his poetry for ever…
As for “The Raven”, this poem is just unique and unsurpassable.
after i read all these comments, i felt better in understanding the poem,it is awefully good. i love it !!!!
I’d like to make some friends who likes poems and who are learning french!!could you please e-mail me?you’ve got my address! mydearli@126.com or you can also use this mydear-1985@163.com i am an english major in china!i like english!!!
I have just read the poem, but actually, I knew nothing about it. It seems so difficult and strange!
I beilive this poem to be very gracefull and I relate to it 100%. I appreciate the feel of how death is and how it contributes to everyday life. If you look hard enough you can even feel the kenitic energy coming from the spirits. The spirits often talk to me. They tell me that this peom is very mean. And that you should remove it.
This is Edgar Allen Poe at his utter best in real time speach.
Wow! I’ve read this poem before, but didn’t really understand it. I think that person probably has suffered many losses and that the raven could represent sorrow or suffering or even death and that the man cannot escape it no matter how much he tries.
“Hey this is one of the greatest poems ever in my opinion.”
You haven’t seen my work. But you will someday.
Love all of Mr.Poe’s works and I would like to say that I know alot about him, have any questons?(: I am doing a progect on this great other aswell and would like to use your comments. May I?
Beutiful i read it in the 3rd grade but did not appreciate and understand it now thru middle school i understand and appreciate this work of art all of Poe’s art is beutiful and deserves to be remembered through history