"The Philosophy of Composition," his analysis of _The Raven_, is a
technical dissection of its method and structure. Neither his avowal of
cold-blooded artifice, nor his subsequent avowal to friends that an
exposure of this artifice was only another of his intellectual hoaxes, need
be wholly credited. If he had designed the complete work in advance, he
scarcely would have made so harsh a prelude of rattle-pan rhymes to the
delicious melody of the second stanza,--not even upon his theory of the
fantastic. Of course an artist, having perfected a work, sees, like the
first Artist, that it is good, and sees why it is good. A subsequent
analysis, coupled with a disavowal of any sacred fire, readily enough may
be made. My belief is that the first conception and rough draft of this
poem came as inspiration always comes; that its author then saw how it
might be perfected, giving it the final touches described in his chapter on
Composition, and that the latter, therefore, is neither wholly false nor
wholly true. The harm of such analysis is that it tempts a novice to fancy
that artificial processes can supersede imagination. The impulse of genius
is to guard the secrets of its creative hour. Glimpses obtained of the
toil, the baffled experiments, which precede a triumph, as in the
sketch-work of Hawthorne recently brought to light, afford priceless
instruction and encouragement to the sincere artist. But one who
voluntarily exposes his Muse to the gaze of all comers should recall the
fate of King Candaules.