The Raven
It tells of a talking raven's mysterious visit to a distraught lover, tracing the man's slow fall into madness. Its publication made Poe popular in his lifetime, although it did not bring him much financial success. The poem remains one of the most famous works ever written for gothic theme.
Once upon a midnight
dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over m
any a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—While
I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a ta
pping, As of someone gently rapping, rapping
at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I
muttered, “tapping at my chamber door. O
nly this and nothing .” Ah, distinctly I
ber it was in the bleak December; And each se
parate 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 Fo
r the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—Nameless and
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 entreat
Entrance at my chamber door—Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door
mber door;This it is and nothing more.” Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating on
then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fa
ct is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came on tapping,
tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I then opened wide
the door; Darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I st
ood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to drea
m 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 cha
mber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat lou
der than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lhat Let me see,
what thereat is, and this mystery explore Let my heart be still a moment and this myste
ry explore ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”ny a flirt and flutter, Open here I flung the s
utter, when, with many a In there stepped a stately Raven of the sayent Not the least
obeisance made he; not a minus But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above Perch
hed upon a bust of Pallas just above I Perched, and sat, and nothing mo
re then T hen this eb ony bird beguiling my smiles By the grave and st
ern decor um of the up “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven,
thou Ghas tly grim a nd ancient Raven wandering from Tell me
what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Pluto Quoth the Raven
“Never more.” Mu ch I marvelled this, Though its answer lit
tle me aning— little relevancy bore; For we cannot hel
p agr eeing at no living human being
Was b lessed with seeing bird above hi
hamber Bird or beast upon the sculp
bust ab ove his chamber 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 far
then he uttered not a feather then he flut
tered She shall press, ah, nevermore.
