ENTER THE U.S. POLITICS ONLINE DISCUSSION FORUM
Note: The text below is in the public domain. This text is offered to the general public for non-profit educational purposes. U.S. Politics Online does not own any copyrights pertaining to the text. Any copyrights that may exist as to the format, translation, etc., resides with the respective author/formatter, not U.S. Politics Online. U.S. Politics Online did convert the original text file into html. Any errors with respect to formatting is a result of a program used to automate the process.
Due to the requirements for redistribution of this text by some of the sources, the original source from which I obtained the text at times will not be disclosed. If you would like information with respect to where I obtained the text then please send me an e-mail: archives@uspoliticsonline.com. Such sources are not liable in any way for the text here. I would simply provide you with information where you can find the original text of the document, which may or may not be identical to what you see here. I have made every attempt to comply with the wishes of the sources of these documents. If an error is found with respect to such compliance then please bring it to my attention immediately so the matter can be resolved.
Also, if you are the person responsible for converting the text to the electronic format and would like credit for your work in the document, please e-mail me and I would be more than happy to comply. Due to my conversion of these text documents into the html format and the possibility for errors to occur in said conversion, I did not want to inadvertently attribute such errors to you.
1829
FAIRY-LAND
by Edgar Allan Poe
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.-THE END-