independent of any real or fancied interest in the thing analysed, it will not be regarded as a
breach of decorum on my part to show the modus operandi by which some one of my own works
was put together. I select 'The Raven' as most generally known. It is my design to render it
manifest that no one point in its composition is referable either to accident or intuition- that the
work proceeded step by step, to its completion, with the precision and rigid consequence of a
mathematical problem.
Let us dismiss, as irrelevant to the poem, per se, the circumstance- or say the necessity- which, in
the first place, gave rise to the intention of composing a poem that should suit at once the popular
and the critical taste.
We commence, then, with this intention.
The initial consideration was that of extent. If any literary work is too long to be read at one
sitting, we must be content to dispense with the immensely important effect derivable from unity
of impression- for, if two sittings be required, the affairs of the world interfere, and everything
like totality is at once destroyed. But since, ceteris paribus, no poet can afford to dispense with
anything that may advance his design, it but remains to be seen whether there is, in extent, any
advantage to counterbalance the loss of unity which attends it. Here I say no, at once. What we
term a long poem is, in fact, merely a succession of brief ones- that is to say, of brief poetical
effects. It is needless to demonstrate that a poem is such only inasmuch as it intensely excites, by
elevating the soul; and all intense excitements are, through a psychal necessity, brief. For this
reason, at least, one-half of the 'Paradise Lost' is essentially prose- a succession of poetical
excitements interspersed, inevitably, with corresponding depressions- the whole being deprived,
through the extremeness of its length, of the vastly important artistic element, totality, or unity of
effect.
It appears evident, then, that there is a distinct limit, as regards length, to all works of literary art-
the limit of a single sitting- and that, although in certain classes of prose composition, such as
'Robinson Crusoe' (demanding no unity), this limit may be advantageously overpassed, it can
never properly be overpassed in a poem. Within this limit, the extent of a poem may be made to
bear mathematical relation to its merit- in other words, to the excitement or elevation-again, in
other words, to the degree of the true poetical effect which it is capable of inducing; for it is clear
that the brevity must be in direct ratio of the intensity of the intended effect- this, with one
proviso- that a certain degree of duration is absolutely requisite for the production of any effect
at all.
Holding in view these considerations, as well as that degree of excitement which I deemed not
above the popular, while not below the critical taste, I reached at once what I conceived the
proper length for my intended poem- a length of about one hundred lines. It is, in fact, a hundred
and eight.
My next thought concerned the choice of an impression, or effect, to be conveyed: and here I
may as well observe that throughout the construction, I kept steadily in view the design of
rendering the work universally appreciable. I should be carried too far out of my immediate topic
were I to demonstrate a point upon which I have repeatedly insisted, and which, with the
poetical, stands not in the slightest need of demonstration- the point, I mean, that Beauty is the
sole legitimate province of the poem. A few words, however, in elucidation of my real meaning,
which some of my friends have evinced a disposition to misrepresent. That pleasure which is at
once the most intense, the most elevating, and the most pure is, I believe, found in the
contemplation of the beautiful. When, indeed, men speak of Beauty, they mean, precisely, not a
quality, as is supposed, but an effect- they refer, in short, just to that intense and pure elevation of
soul- not of intellect, or of heart- upon which I have commented, and which is experienced in
consequence of contemplating the 'beautiful.' Now I designate Beauty as the province of the
poem, merely because it is an obvious rule of Art that effects should be made to spring from
direct causes- that objects should be attained through means best adapted for their attainment- no
