Dreamland

            A poem by Edgar Allan Poe                 

 

            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 clime that lieth, sublime,

               Out of SPACE- out of TIME.

 

            Bottomless vales and boundless floods,

            And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,

            With forms that no man can discover

            For the tears 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 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 grey 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 Earth- and Heaven.

 

            For the heart whose woes are legion

            'Tis a peaceful, soothing region-

            For the spirit that walks in shadow

            'Tis- oh, 'tis an Eldorado!

            But the traveller, travelling 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 fringed 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.