THE RAVEN
-EDGAR ALLEN 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."
I won't give the whole poem because it is way too long to pay attention to, but this poem makes me "jealous". When I studied Edgar Allen Poe last year in English, I became very familiar with his writing. This one in particular was very interesting for me to read. It made me quite "jealous" and really made me think about my writing. This poem makes me "jealous" because I have never really thought of the words I use. I have always gone with words that rhyme together no matter how crummy it sounds. His thoughts that I feel within the poem make me "jealous" to read as well. What goes through the persons head is quite interesting. I have always wanted to get better at writing like that. (To write what goes through peoples’ minds is an interesting way of expressing yourself.) It also lets others feel the way you feel. Edgar Allen Poe is a role model of mine and I am quite "jealous" of his work.
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."
I won't give the whole poem because it is way too long to pay attention to, but this poem makes me "jealous". When I studied Edgar Allen Poe last year in English, I became very familiar with his writing. This one in particular was very interesting for me to read. It made me quite "jealous" and really made me think about my writing. This poem makes me "jealous" because I have never really thought of the words I use. I have always gone with words that rhyme together no matter how crummy it sounds. His thoughts that I feel within the poem make me "jealous" to read as well. What goes through the persons head is quite interesting. I have always wanted to get better at writing like that. (To write what goes through peoples’ minds is an interesting way of expressing yourself.) It also lets others feel the way you feel. Edgar Allen Poe is a role model of mine and I am quite "jealous" of his work.
