sionately at heart--propounds them half in
superstition and half in that species of despair which delights in
self-torture--propounds them not altogether because he believes in the
prophetic or demoniac character of the bird (which reason assures him is
merely repeating a lesson learned by rote), but because he experiences a
frenzied pleasure in so modelling his questions as to receive from the
_expected_ "Nevermore" the most delicious because the most intolerable
of sorrow. Perceiving the opportunity thus afforded me, or, more
strictly, thus forced upon me in the progress of the construction, I
first established in mind the climax or concluding query--that query to
which "Nevermore" should be in the last place an answer--that query in
reply to which this word "Nevermore" should involve the utmost
conceivable amount of sorrow and despair.

Here then the poem may be said to have its beginning, at the end where
all works of art should begin; for it was here at this point of my
preconsiderations that I first put pen to paper in the composition of
the stanza:

"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."

I composed this stanza, at this point, first that, by establishing the
climax, I might the better vary and graduate, as regards seriousness,
and importance the preceding queries of the lover, and secondly, that I
might definitely settle the rhythm, the metre, and the length and
general arrangement of the stanza, as well as graduate the stanzas which
were to precede, so that none of them might surpass this in rhythmical
effect. Had I been able in the subsequent composition to construct more
vigorous stanzas, I should without scruple have purposely enfeebled them
so as not to interfere with the climacteric effect.

And here I may as well say a few words of the versification. My first
object (as usual) was originality. The extent to which this has been
neglected in versification is one of the most unaccountable things in
the world. Admitting that there is little possibility of variety in mere
_rhythm_, it is still clear that the possible varieties of metre and
stanza are absolutely infinite; and yet, for