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Text: Edgar Allan Poe, "The Valley of Unrest" (D), Broadway Journal, September 6, 1845, 1:135, col. 1





[page 135, continued:]

The Valley of Unrest.
 
Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay.
Now each visiter shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless —
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Unceasingly, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye —
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave: — from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep: — from off their delicate stems          
Perennial tears descend in gems.

EDGAR A. POE.









Notes:

None.







 
[S:1 - BJ, 1845] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Poems - The Valley of Unrest (D)