'Dream-Land' by Edgar Allan Poe

Poetry

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Poetry

Dream-Land

Edgar Allan Poe (1844)

By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule — From a wild weird clime, that lieth, sublime, Out of Space — out of Time. Bottomless vales and boundless floods, And chasms, and caves, and Titian woods, With forms that no man can discover For the dews that drip all over; Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a shore; Seas that restlessly aspire, Surging, unto skies of fire; Lakes that endlessly outspread Their lone waters, lone and dead, — Their still waters, still and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily. By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule. By the lakes that thus outspread Their lone waters, lone and dead, — Their sad waters, sad and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily, — By the mountains — near the river Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever, — By the gray woods, — by the swamp Where the toad and the newt encamp, — By the dismal tarns and pools Where dwell the Ghouls, — By each spot the most unholy — In each nook most melancholy, — There the traveller meets aghast Sheeted Memories of the Past — Shrouded forms that start and sigh As they pass the wanderer by — White-robed forms of friends long given, In agony, to the worms, and Heaven. By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule — For the heart whose woes are legion ’T is a peaceful, soothing region — For the spirit that walks in shadow ’T is — oh ’t is an Eldorado! But the traveler, traveling through it, May not — dare not openly view it; Never its mysteries are exposed To the weak human eye unclosed; So wills its King, who hath forbid The uplifting of the fringéd lid; And thus the sad Soul that here passes Beholds it but through darkened glasses. By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have wandered home but newly From this ultimate dim Thule.


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