# bib

id: 1065
author: Poe, Edgar Allan
title: The Raven
extension: .txt
mime: text/plain
words: 1095
sentence: 41
flesch: 72
cache: cache/1065.txt
txt: txt/1065.txt
summary:
  But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul 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. 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.


id: 1062
author: Poe, Edgar Allan
title: First Project Gutenberg Collection of Edgar Allan Poe
extension: .txt
mime: text/plain
words: 6077
sentence: 366
flesch: 82
cache: cache/1062.txt
txt: txt/1062.txt
summary:
  There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. Till I scarcely more than muttered: Other friends have flown before-- On the morrow _he_ will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.


id: 17192
author: Poe, Edgar Allan
title: The Raven
extension: .txt
mime: text/plain
words: 7280
sentence: 371
flesch: 73
cache: cache/17192.txt
txt: txt/17192.txt
summary:
  In 1843, Albert Pike, the half-Greek, half-frontiersman, poet of Arkansas, had printed in The New Mirror, for which Poe then was writing, some verses entitled Isadore, but since revised by the author and called The Widowed Heart. As many poets, so many charms.


id: 10031
author: Poe, Edgar Allan
title: The Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe Including Essays on Poetry
extension: .txt
mime: text/plain
words: 61731
sentence: 3428
flesch: 78
cache: cache/10031.txt
txt: txt/10031.txt
summary:
  And these men--the poets--living and perishing amid the scorn of the utilitarians--of rough pedants, who arrogated to themselves a title which could have been properly applied only to the scorned--these men, the poets, pondered piningly, yet not unwisely, upon the ancient days when our wants were not more simple than our enjoyments were keen--days when _mirth_ was a word unknown, so solemnly deep-toned was happiness--holy, august, and blissful days, blue rivers ran undammed, between hills unhewn, into far forest solitudes, primeval, odorous, and unexplored. As these crossed the direct line of my vision they affected me as _forms;_ but upon passing to my side their images impressed me with the idea of shrieks, groans, and, other dismal expressions of terror, of horror, or of woe.


