At a bleak and foreboding castle, Edgar Allan Poe pours himself a drink and contemplates a bust in his study with a raven atop it. He then begins writing his newest poem, “The Raven.” He composes the first two lines, writing, “while I pondered weak and...”. he can’t come up with a rhyme, and the Raven finally tells him that the word is weary. Poe throws his wineglass at him and tries to go back to work.
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