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POETIC DEVICES:
1. FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE- (Language that uses words or expressions with a meaning that is different from the literal interpretation.) Poe uses the character of "the conquerer worm" to represent death: "Mortal pangs" is used because human beings must succumb to death
2. IMAGERY- (To describe things that are not normally viewed to be tangible objects.) The poem demonstrates the use of imagery by describing the reaction of the angels towards the worm and the devouring of the actors- "It writhes! -It writhes!".
3.

8 lines a stanza
ababcbcb
end rhymes

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Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Woe!

That motley drama- oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

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The theme of "The Raven" is undying devotion. The narrator notes that "'Nevermore' is the only word the raven can utter" (eapoe.org). In the poem, there are 18 stanzas, making the poem appear as more of a short story. The reason the poem is so long, is to drill it into readers mind that there is a such thing as grief and undying devotion. The poem also notes that, "Imagination, unchecked by reason, leads to a dead end", learned by the narrator of this poem (eapoe.org). Edgar Allan Poe had always had a history of depression, this fact adds context to the poem, and the reason why the ending of said poem is so filled with grief. As well as his history of depression, Poe also lived in a time where ravens, and anything 100% black, were considered bad omens.

Poetic Devices-
1. Symbolism- stressed importance of emotional states by using symbols to correspond to these states. The raven is a symbol of grief, and ravens are usually seen as bad omens. "Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore." (Poe, "The Raven").
2. Personification- when a nonhuman object is given human characteristics. The raven is nonhuman, and yet it is described as a human. "Then the bird said 'Nevermore'" (Poe, "The Raven"). Birds cannot talk, therefore the raven has been personified.
3. Setting- time and place of the action of a short story, novel, play, or poem. Poe describes where he is when the raven appears to give him grief. "Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December" (Poe, "The Raven").
4. Alliteration- repetition of initial consonant sounds of several words in a group. This is used to create a drum sound, a rhythmic vehicle for the poem to advance.  "Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before" (Poe, "The Raven").
5. internal rhyme- rhyme that occurs within a line, rather than at the end. He does this to continue to draw the reader into the poem. "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary" (Poe, "The Raven").
6. Mood- Atmosphere, feeling created in the reader by a literary work or passage. He creates an ominous mood within the passage, and adds to the rumor that ravens are a bad omen. "Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing" (Poe, "The Raven").

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"Edgar Allan Poe." Encyclopædia Britannica. Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., n.d. Web. 05 Apr. 2017.

"Edgar Allan Poe." Poets.org. Academy of American Poets, 01 Aug. 2016. Web. 31 Mar. 2017.

"Text: Dennis W. Eddings, “Theme and Parody in ‘The Raven’,” Poe and His Times: The Artist and His Milieu, Baltimore: The Edgar Allan Poe Society, 1990. " Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Lectures - Poe and His Times - Theme and Parody in The Raven (Dennis W. Eddings, 1990). N.p., n.d. Web. 05 Apr. 2017.

"Who Was Edgar Allan Poe?" Who Was Edgar Allan Poe | Edgar Allan Poe Museum. N.p., n.d. Web. 05 Apr. 2017.

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Born in Boston, Massachusetts January 19th, 1809. Both of his parents died before Poe reached the age of three years old. He attended the "best boarding schools and later to University of Virginia."(Poets.org) After a year of schooling, Poe was forced to quit schooling, due to a "lack of financial support". (Poets.org)
Edgar began to sell short stories and by 1835, "became the editor of the Southern Literary Messenger in Richmond" (poets.org). He married his cousin, Virginia, and after her death, his "lifelong struggle with depression and alcoholism worsened" (poets.org).

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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.

“’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