Stanza 1
Once upon a midnight dreary¹, while I pondered², weak and weary,
Over many a quaint³ and curious volume⁴ of forgotten lore⁵.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber⁶ door.
" 'Tis some visitor, " I muttered⁷, "tapping at my chamber door -
          Only this and nothing more."

Stanza 2
Ah, distinctly¹ I remember it was in the bleak² December;
And each separate dying ember³ wrought⁴ its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow⁵;-- vainly⁶ I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease⁷ of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden⁸ whom the angels name Lenore -
          Nameless here for evermore.

Stanza 3
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
" 'Tis some visitor entreating¹ entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, -
          This it is and nothing more."

Stanza 4
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir, " said I, "or Madame, truly your forgiveness I implore¹;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce² was sure I heard you" -- here I opened wide the door; -
          Darkness there and nothing more.

Stanza 5
Deep into that darkness peering¹, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
          Merely this and nothing more.

Stanza 6
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice¹;
Let me see, then, what thereat² is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
          'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Stanza 7
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt¹ and flutter²,
In there stepped a stately³ Raven of the saintly⁴ days of yore⁵;
Not the least obeisance⁶ made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien⁷ of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust⁸ of Pallas⁹ just above my chamber door -
          Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Stanza 8
Then this ebony¹ bird beguiling² my sad fancy³ into smiling,
By the grave⁴ and stern⁵ decorum⁶ of the countenance⁷ it wore,
"Though thy crest⁸ be shorn⁹ and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven¹⁰,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore¹¹!"
          Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore¹²."

Stanza 9
Much I marvelled this ungainly¹ fowl² to hear discourse³ so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy⁴ bore⁵;
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 a name as "Nevermore."

Stanza 10
But the Raven sitting lonely on that placid¹ bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered² -- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more then muttered, "Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
          Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Stanza 11
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly¹ spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store²
Caught³ from some unhappy master whom unmerciful⁴ Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden⁵ bore⁶ -
Till the dirges⁷ of his Hope that melancholy⁸ burden bore
          Of 'Never - nevermore.' "

Stanza 12
But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy 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 ominous¹ bird of yore -
What this grim², ungainly, ghastly, gaunt³, and ominous bird of yore
          Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."

Stanza 13
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining¹, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er²
But whose velvet-violet lining with lamplight gloating o'er
          She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Stanza 14
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer¹
Swung by seraphim² whose footfalls tinkled³ on the tufted⁴ floor.
"Wretch⁵," I cried, "thy God hath⁶ lent thee -- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite⁷ -- respite and nepenthe⁸ from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff⁹, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
          Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Stanza 15
"Prophet¹!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Tempter² sent, or whether tempest³ tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate⁴ yet all undaunted⁵, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by Horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore -
Is there --  is there balm in Gilead⁶? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"
          Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Stanza 16
"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 laden¹ if, within the distant Aidenn²,
It shall clasp³ a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
          Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Stanza 17
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume¹ as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form² from off my door!"
          Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Stanza 18
And the Raven, never flitting¹, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
          Shall be lifted -- nevermore!
 

¹ this version of the poem is not from January 29, 1845. It is
   Poe's final draft  (Bibliography 3)