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Poe uses repetition all through out his poem when he contiously says "Nevermore. Repetition is a literary device that repeats the same words or phrases a few times to make an idea clearer.

The Raven is an example of symbolism through out the play that represents sorrow and pain he says "And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore!". Ravens are often seen as spectre's of death in our world but here it can be seen as a sort of representation of Poes insanity.

" Eagerly I vanished the morrow;- I had sought to borrow" This is an example an internal rhyme, a rhyme involving a word in the middle of a line and another involving a word at the end or middle of the next line

"Doubting , dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before" This is an alliteration an occurrence common in poems in which a the same letter or sound will appear in the first letter or sound of words that are next to each other or closely connected. It can add to the poem giving the words a rhythmic sound

"And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming" A simile was used here to give a better description of the ravens eyes. A simile is a figure of speech involving the comparison of one thing with another thing of a different kind, used to make a description more emphatic or vivid.

"And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain"  This is an example of assonance which is

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The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe        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 mortals 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 blest 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 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! Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls 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 in 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 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! 

# data[].attributes.subject
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe        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 mortals 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 blest 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 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! Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls 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 in 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 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! 

# data[].attributes.headline
  Born on January 19, 1809, in Boston, Massachusetts, Edgar Allen Poe was born to David Poe Jr and Elizabeth Arnold Hopkins Poe who were both known to be touring actors. However, in the year 1811, both of Poes parents passed away leaving him an orphan at the age of three. He was later adopted by a tobacco merchant, John Allan, in Richmond, Virgina, before being sent off to a boarding school in London, England. As he got older, he later attended the University of Virginia, however, he dropped out after only a year as he began to get lost in a gambling debt that lead him to spend all of his tuition money. After which, his adoptive parent John Allan managed to break of Poe's engagement to his then fiancee Sarah Royster, which resulted in Poe becoming heartbroken, penny less, and lost. With no other road to turn to, Poe enlisted in the army in May 1827, within the same year he went on to publish his first book "Tamerlane and Other Poems" as well. He became a West Point cadet within 1929 but 6 months after he was dismissed for disobedience. By the time of him being dismissed he had published "Al Aaraf" in 1829 and "Poems by Edgar A. Poe" within 1831 getting the funds from other cadets. With his early poetry, however, he shows to have taken a Lord Byron approach to his writing showing a sort of musical tone within his verses. Eventually, Poe moved in with his Aunt Maria Clemm and her teenage daughter Virginia Eliza Clemm, whom he married before she was 14 years old. Later on, as time progressed, Poe began to earn respect as a true literary critic and writer, examples of his work at the time are his essays "The Poetic Principle" and "The Philosophy of Composition," in which he explains his own important theories with literature. Despite this, he began to spiral down from his alcoholism and compulsive behavior, though he ended up producing a constant amount of musical-esk poems. Examples being "The Raven" written in 1845 and "The Bells" written in 1849 that literary scholars turn to as some of his best work. Among these two come his short stories such as "Ligeia" written within 1838, "The Fall of the House of Usher" written in 1839, and finally "The Masque of the Red Death." Going off of his own theory of creating a unique or single effect, he went on to create the genre of the detective story known to be his first one published would be "The Murder in the Rue Morgue" written within 1841. As life was getting better for Poe, his wife had inevitably died and thus within two years he returned to Richmond and went back into a relationship with a now widowed Sarah Royster. After their romantic reunion, however, is when Poe was later found unconscious on a street in Baltimore, he was later taken to Washington College Hospital where he died four days later due to the diagnosis of "lesions on the brain" which the doctor at the time believed could have been caused by Poe getting mugged. As he briefly became conscious he uttered his reported last words "Lord, help my poor soul" and as time progressed the true result of his death was still unknown due to his death certificate vanishing into thin air. Rufus Griswold, known to be Poe's personal enemy and critic, later on, published an obituary as well as going on to publish his last manuscripts as "Memoir of Poe" that painted the writer as a type of madman within the end.

# data[].attributes.subject
  Born on January 19, 1809, in Boston, Massachusetts, Edgar Allen Poe was born to David Poe Jr and Elizabeth Arnold Hopkins Poe who were both known to be touring actors. However, in the year 1811, both of Poes parents passed away leaving him an orphan at the age of three. He was later adopted by a tobacco merchant, John Allan, in Richmond, Virgina, before being sent off to a boarding school in London, England. As he got older, he later attended the University of Virginia, however, he dropped out after only a year as he began to get lost in a gambling debt that lead him to spend all of his tuition money. After which, his adoptive parent John Allan managed to break of Poe's engagement to his then fiancee Sarah Royster, which resulted in Poe becoming heartbroken, penny less, and lost. With no other road to turn to, Poe enlisted in the army in May 1827, within the same year he went on to publish his first book "Tamerlane and Other Poems" as well. He became a West Point cadet within 1929 but 6 months after he was dismissed for disobedience. By the time of him being dismissed he had published "Al Aaraf" in 1829 and "Poems by Edgar A. Poe" within 1831 getting the funds from other cadets. With his early poetry, however, he shows to have taken a Lord Byron approach to his writing showing a sort of musical tone within his verses. Eventually, Poe moved in with his Aunt Maria Clemm and her teenage daughter Virginia Eliza Clemm, whom he married before she was 14 years old. Later on, as time progressed, Poe began to earn respect as a true literary critic and writer, examples of his work at the time are his essays "The Poetic Principle" and "The Philosophy of Composition," in which he explains his own important theories with literature. Despite this, he began to spiral down from his alcoholism and compulsive behavior, though he ended up producing a constant amount of musical-esk poems. Examples being "The Raven" written in 1845 and "The Bells" written in 1849 that literary scholars turn to as some of his best work. Among these two come his short stories such as "Ligeia" written within 1838, "The Fall of the House of Usher" written in 1839, and finally "The Masque of the Red Death." Going off of his own theory of creating a unique or single effect, he went on to create the genre of the detective story known to be his first one published would be "The Murder in the Rue Morgue" written within 1841. As life was getting better for Poe, his wife had inevitably died and thus within two years he returned to Richmond and went back into a relationship with a now widowed Sarah Royster. After their romantic reunion, however, is when Poe was later found unconscious on a street in Baltimore, he was later taken to Washington College Hospital where he died four days later due to the diagnosis of "lesions on the brain" which the doctor at the time believed could have been caused by Poe getting mugged. As he briefly became conscious he uttered his reported last words "Lord, help my poor soul" and as time progressed the true result of his death was still unknown due to his death certificate vanishing into thin air. Rufus Griswold, known to be Poe's personal enemy and critic, later on, published an obituary as well as going on to publish his last manuscripts as "Memoir of Poe" that painted the writer as a type of madman within the end.