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! ” said I, “thing of evil – prophet still, if bird or devil!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. 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? 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! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
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.
The word has no meaning, except for having a similar echo to the name of his deceased lover, Lenore.
Although it deeply pains the narrator with the altitude increasing with each reply, he keeps on endeavoring the same act.
Literature is believed to be a wonderful world where phantasy of the writer is mixed with the experience of his life, thoughts and emotions.
It is not a secret that human psyche is shaped under the impact of particular events, relationship with other people and health conditions.
It is implied that this act shall persist until the student has reached his maximum level of pain taking, thus leading to an end to the story.
Edgar Allan Poe constantly emphasizes on the effects of sound to build up the melancholy in ‘The Raven’. The plot revolves around the single utterance of a raven; in fact, any question the student asks is created to end with an echo that rhymes with ‘nevermore’.