Reading of The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe

Not Yet Rated


An emotional reading of the popular story written by one of history's best macabre poets!

Vocal Characteristics



Voice Age

Middle Aged (35-54)


North American (General)


Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
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 someone 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, thorough for the lost lenore, for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore! Nameless! Here forevermore! And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrilled, filled me with fantastic terrors. Never felt before, so that now to still beating of my heart, I stood repeating his. 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! Silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, and the only word there spoken was the whispered word. Nor, yes! I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word Lenard, merely this, and nothing back into the chamber, turning all my soul within me, burning! Soon I again heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. Surely! Said I. Surely that is something at my window lattice. Let me see, then what threat this 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 the mean of the Lord or lady perched above my chamber door, perched upon a bust of palace. Above my chamber door perched and sat, and nothing. Then this ebony bird, beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance at war, 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 the I lordly name is on the nights plutonium inshore! Quote the raven. Nevermore much! I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly though its answer, little meaning little relevantly born, 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 palate bust spoke only that one word, as if his soul, in that one word he did! Outpour nothing farther than he uttered. Not a feather than he fluttered, till I scarcely more than muttered. Other friends have flown before on the morrow. He will leave me, and 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 til 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 the bird, and bystander! Then upon the velvet, sinking, Aiba took myself to linking fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore! What! This grim, ungainly on! 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 bosoms core! This and more! I sat divining with my head at ease, reclining on the cushions, velvet lining, that lamp like loaded over, but whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight glowing over. She shall press! Ah! Nevermore! Then methought! The air grew denser perfumed with an unseen sensor swung by Seraphim, whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. Wretch! I cried. By 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! Both 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, quote, the raven Nevermore profit! I said. 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 and with in the distant Aiden it shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels named lenore clasp! A rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named lenore! Quote, the raven Nevermore! Be that the word of our parting bird or fiend! I shrieked up starting! Get the back into the tempest. And the night's plutonium shore. Leave no black plume, as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken, leave my loneliness unbroken with the bust above my door. Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from my door! Both the raven Nevermore! And the raven never flitting still is sitting still, is sitting on the pallid bust of palace above my chamber door, and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, and the lamplight or um streaming, throws his shadow on the floor, and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted nevermore.