EDGAR ALLAN POE - Fairy Land

                    Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
                    And cloudy-looking woods,
                    Whose forms we can't discover
                    For the tears that drip all over!
                    Huge moons there wax and wane-
                    Again- again- again-
                    Every moment of the night-
                    Forever changing places-
                    And they put out the star-light
                    With the breath from their pale faces.
                    About twelve by the moon-dial,
                    One more filmy than the rest
                    (A kind which, upon trial,
                    They have found to be the best)
                    Comes down- still down- and down,
                    With its centre on the crown
                    Of a mountain's eminence,
                    While its wide circumference
                    In easy drapery falls
                    Over hamlets, over halls,
                    Wherever they may be-
                    O'er the strange woods- o'er the sea-
                    Over spirits on the wing-
                    Over every drowsy thing-
                    And buries them up quite
                    In a labyrinth of light-
                    And then, how deep!- O, deep!
                    Is the passion of their sleep.
                    In the morning they arise,
                    And their moony covering
                    Is soaring in the skies,
                    With the tempests as they toss,
                    Like- almost anything-
                    Or a yellow Albatross.
                    They use that moon no more
                    For the same end as before-
                    Videlicet, a tent-
                    Which I think extravagant:
                    Its atomies, however,
                    Into a shower dissever,
                    Of which those butterflies
                    Of Earth, who seek the skies,
                    And so come down again,
                    (Never-contented things!)
                    Have brought a specimen
                    Upon their quivering wings.
 
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