Dream-Land

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 weird 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 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 my home but newly

From this 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 mountain--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 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 journeyed home but newly

From this ultimate dim Thule.

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 the 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.


(1844)



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