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 Uneasily, 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.
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow:
You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if Hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand: How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep,-while I weep! Oh, God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? Oh, God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
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 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 dread,— 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 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 giver In agony, to the Earth,-and Heaven.
For the heart whose woes are legion 'Tis a peaceful, soothing region,- For the spirit that walks in shadow "Tis-oh, 'tis 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 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 wandered home but newly From this ultimate dim Thule.
Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers, Thy gentlest of all gentle nameş dost take! How many memories of what radiant hours At sight of thee and thine at once awake! How many scenes of what departed bliss! How many thoughts of what entombed hopes! How many visions of a maiden that is
No more no more upon thy verdant slopes! No more! Alas, that magical sad sound [more,― Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no Thy memory no more! Accursed ground
Henceforth I hold thy flower-enameled shore, Oh, hyacinthine isle! Oh, purple Zante! "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!"
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