Edgar Allan Poe

With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.

With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.

And still the Raven, never flitting,
Still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of read more

And still 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.

Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term art, I should call it "the Reproduction of what the read more

Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term art, I should call it "the Reproduction of what the senses perceive in nature through the veil of the mist

Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly
shore,--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on read more

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!"

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream read more

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.