# data[].attributes.body
The theme of "Alone" is suffering and isolation. Poe's parents died when he was young and he was raised by a foster parent. He was never exactly satisfied with his life, he failed a lot, and didn't find much success when he wanted it. He sees himself as different from other people due to his isolation. You see this when he says, "As others were- I have not seen," (Poe, line one). Poe went through a lot early on and reflected that in his poetry. "Alone" is a lyric poem. There is emotion, rhyme, and it isn't lengthy. The rhyme scheme is AABB. For Example, it says "From that sun that 'round me roll'd/ In its autumn tint of gold-/ From the lighting in the sky/ As it pass'd me flying by," (Poe, line 15-18). It is also structured where he begins by talking about the past then moves into the present, making it easier for the readers to understand the present. Poe starts out by talking about how in the past, he was never like anyone which brought a different view to life for him. This loneliness he grew up on continues to present day. This has a meaning of little hope and that what you grow up with and on will influence your life forever. The historical context of the poem is how he grew up. His birth mother and father both died, and was adopted by John Allen and his family. He liked his adoptive mother, who died before he went into the military, but he did not get along with his adoptive father. This is why in the poem he writes, "Of a demon in my view," (Poe, line 22), which is a comparison of his father to a demon.

# data[].attributes.body
Personification is when a nonhuman object is given human characteristics. This is seen in the poem where Poe personifies lightning. He says, "From the lightning in the sky/ As it pass'd me flying by," (Poe, line 17-18) which gives lighting the human characteristic of flying. Imagery is the descriptive language used in literature to recreate sensory experiences relating to sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste.It enriches writing by making it more vivid, setting atone, suggesting emotions and guiding the reader's reaction. This is used in "Alone" when it says, "From the red cliff of the mountain-/ From the sun that 'round me roll'd/ in its autumn tint of gold," (Poe, line 13-16). This describes a main fountain being near a red cliff, with the sun in the back and it's colors of autumn gold shining. The scenery is described as cloudy and dark, like the whole poem, which influences how you will feel during it.
Metaphors are comparisons between two unlike things without using the words "like" or "as". In the last line he says, "Of a demon in my view," (Poe, line 22). This is considered a metaphor because the demon can be compared to Poe's father.

# data[].attributes.body
In the poem "The Raven", there are two prominent themes. The first theme is madness. The grieving man in the poem is crazy enough to talk to a raven. But he is grieving because he is madly in love, which is the second theme. Since his wife passed away, the man is very depressed and goes mad. In stanza four, Poe says, "Darkness there and nothing more." (Poe, 4). This quote proves that the man speaking is in a dark place at this time. As for structure, Poe divides the lines up into stanzas to organize the way the reader interprets the poem. The meaning behind "The Raven" is that the beautiful wife was deeply loved and was missed by the man.  But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,/ And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, " (Poe, 4). When Edgar was young, his parents died which may be why his poems are so dark and dreary.

# data[].attributes.body
From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were—I have not seen

As others saw—I could not bring

My passions from a common spring—

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow—I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone—

And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn

Of a most stormy life—was drawn

From ev’ry depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still—

From the torrent, or the fountain—

From the red cliff of the mountain—

From the sun that ’round me roll’d

In its autumn tint of gold—

From the lightning in the sky

As it pass’d me flying by—

From the thunder, and the storm—

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view—

# data[].attributes.body
Poe, Edgar Allan. "The Raven." Poetry Foundation. Poetry Foundation, n.d. Web. 06 Apr. 2017.

"Poe's Biography | Edgar Allan Poe Museum." Poe's Biography | Edgar Allan Poe Museum. N.p., n.d. Web. 06 Apr. 2017.

Poe, Edgar Allan. "“Alone”." Poetry Foundation. Poetry Foundation, n.d. Web. 06 Apr. 2017.

"ALONE BY EDGAR ALLAN POE - via @XMind Online Library." XMind. N.p., 26 Sept. 2014. Web. 06 Apr. 2017.

# data[].attributes.body
Imagery-  is the descriptive language used in literature to recreate sensory experiences relating to sight, taste, touch, hearing and smell. Imagery enriches writing by making it more vivid, setting a tone, suggesting emotions, and guiding the reader's reaction. "And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain/

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;..." (Poe, 3). Poe describes the curtain in great detail, so a picture of the rustling curtain is painted into the reader's mind. This sentence helps to set the mood of the poem because the curtain is shady and dreary, as is the rest of "The Raven".
Figurative language- is writing or speech not meant to be interpreted literally. It creates vivid word pictures and makes writing emotionally intense and concentrated (simile, metaphor, hyperbole, personification, apostrophe). "And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming ..." Poe, 19). This metaphor in "The Raven" explains that the eyes dream of terrible things. The reader interprets this because Poe refers to a demon"s dream. This leaves a dark feeling of wonder with the audience as they read the last lines.
Rhyme- Words rhyme when the sounds of their accented vowels and all succeeding sounds are identical, as in amuse and confuse. For true rhyme, the consonants that proceed the vowels must be different. "Soon I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before..../ Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—" (Poe, 6). Poe and other poets use rhyme in their poems because it organizes the words and makes the words flow better. Since the words go nicely together, the reader reads the poem differently with their voices.

# data[].attributes.body
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.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

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;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

“’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,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream 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 chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

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 a minute 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.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

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.”

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.”

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 farther 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 lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

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?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

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 of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

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 dreaming,

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!

# data[].attributes.body
Edgar was born on January 19, 1809 in Boston, soon moving to Virginia after both his parents died. He was taken in by a wealthy tobacco merchant named John Allen. He wanted Edgar to pursue the tobacco business, but Edgar's childhood role model, Lord Byron, a British poet, influenced him otherwise. After going to the University of Virginia, becoming broke, moving back to Richmond, finding out about his fiancée engaged to another man, resulted in him ditching home and venturing off on a quest to become a greta poet. He published his first book, Tamerlane, when he was 18. Poe moved to Baltimore and after John Alen died he was living in poverty but was publishing stories, one that won him a contest by the Saturday Visiter. This gave him connections, earning him a job at the Southern Literary Messenger , and he soon turned it into one of the most popular magazines in the South with his stories. After moving to New York and Philadelphia, he earned true fame after his publication of "The Raven" in January of 1845. In the winter of 1847 his wife died, leaving him very devastated. In 1849 he returned to Richmond and planned to marry Elmira Shelton, the gal that ditched him way back when. On the way to Richmond back from Philadelphia, he disappeared in Baltimore and was lost for five days. He was later found, put in a hospital, and died on October 7, 1849 with only strangers by his side.

# data[].attributes.body
By Kait Murray and Holly Lindholm