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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