Text: Edgar Allan Poe, “Dream-Land” (Text-02), Graham’s Magazine, June 1844, 25:256


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[page 256, full page, continued:]

DREAM-LAND.

————

BY EDGAR A. POE.

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[column 1:]

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 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 gray woods, — by the swamp

Where the toad and the newt encamp, — [column 2:]

By the dismal tarns and pools

Where dwell the Ghouls, —

By each spot the most unholy —

In each nook most melancholy, —

There the traveler 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

’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 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.

 


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Notes:

The odd indentation of line 7 is in all versions of this poem printed during Poe’s lifetime.


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[S:2 - GM, 1844] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Poems - Dream-Land [Text-02]