Dweller of the Dark Presents “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe



“The Raven” is a narrative poem by Edgar Allan Poe. It was first published by the “New York Evening Mirror” in January 1845. The poem is unique for its rhythmic musicality, stylized language, and of course, the supernatural atmosphere. Poe threw all his angst and pain at the impending death and loss of his beloved Virginia into the poem. “The Raven” is the tale of a mysterious talking raven’s visit to a distraught lover, tracing the man’s slow fall into madness. The lover is hinted at being a student, lamenting the loss of his love, Lenore.

Will the distraught narrator ever find peace from this accursed bird? Or will the raven haunt him evermore?

The Raven

By Edgar Allan Poe


Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—




            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.



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;


    “’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,





            Darkness there and nothing more.


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




            Merely this and nothing more.


Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.




            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”





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,


Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly 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.”






            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,


    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,


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

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


            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing





            She shall press, ah, nevermore!




    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;


            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”


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

    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—



            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”




    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—


            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”






            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”


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




            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

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