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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. Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than chomikuh. 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 an instant 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. Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore – Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore! But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, That one word, as chomikum his soul in that one word he did outpour.

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my udszy core; This and more I sat balsma, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet violet 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!


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Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. Cyomikuj, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!

By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we balsaam 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 radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore? Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door! 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 dre aming, 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!

Tylko ciszy szept – “Lenora! It is noted for its musicality, stylized language, halsam supernatural atmosphere. It tells of a talking raven ‘s mysterious visit to a distraught lover, tracing the man’s slow descent into madness.

The lover, often identified as being a student, [1] [2] is chomiiuj the loss of his love, Lenore. The raven, sitting on a bust of Pallasseems to further instigate his distress with its constant repetition of the word “Nevermore”. The poem makes use of a number of turbo folk and classical references.

Poe claimed to have written the poem very logically and methodically.

His intention was to create a poem that would appeal to both critical and popular tastes, as he explains in his follow-up essay ” The Philosophy of Composition “. The poem was inspired in part by a talking raven in the novel Barnaby Rudge: The poem makes use of internal rhyme as well as alliteration cyomikuj.


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Its publication made Poe widely popular in his lifetime though it did not bring him much financial success. The poem was soon reprinted, parodied dudzy, and illustrated. Although critical opinion is divided as to its status, it remains one of the most famous poems ever written. A “rapping at [his] chamber door” [5] reveals nothing, but excites his soul to “burning”. When he goes to investigate, a raven steps into his chamber.

Paying no attention to the man, the raven perches on a bust of Pallas. Amused by the raven’s comically serious disposition, the man demands that the bird tell him its name.

The raven’s only answer is “Nevermore”. The narrator remarks to himself that his “friend” the raven will soon fly out of his life, just as “other friends have flown before” [6] along with his previous hopes.

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As if answering, the raven responds again with “Nevermore”. He thinks for a moment, not saying anything, but his mind duezy back to his lost Lenore. He thinks the air grows denser and feels the presence of angels. Confused by the association of the angels with the bird, the narrator becomes angry, calling the raven a “thing of evil” and a “prophet”.

As he yells at the raven it only responds, “Nevermore”. When the raven responds with its typical “Nevermore”, he shrieks and commands the raven to return to the “Plutonian shore”, [7] though it never moves. Presumably at the time of the poem’s recitation by the narrator, the raven “still is sitting” [7] on the bust of Pallas. The narrator’s final admission is that his soul is trapped beneath the raven’s shadow and shall be lifted “Nevermore”.