Last Update: Jan. 6, 2008  Navigation:  Main Menu    Poe's Works    Poe's Poems
 
 
Text: Edgar Allan Poe, "Dream-Land" (D), The Poets and Poetry of America (10th edition), 1850, p. 420, col. 2





[page 420, column 2:]

DREAM-LAND.
 
——

    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 Thulé —
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 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 earth — and heaven!

    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 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 wander'd home but newly
    From this ultimate dim Thulé.









Notes:

None.







 
[S:1 - PPA-10th, 1850) - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Poems - Dream-Land (D)