There is a twofold Silence-sea and shore
Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places, Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces, Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him terrorless: his name's "No More." He is the corporate Silence: dread him not! No power hath he of evil in himself; But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf, That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod No foot of man,) commend thyself to God!
A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM.
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
THE CITY IN THE SEA.
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
Νο rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently- Gleams up the pinnacles far and free- Up domes-up spires-up kingly halls- Up fanes-up Babylon-like walls- Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers- Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathèd friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine. Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down.
There open fanes and gaping graves Yawn level with the luminous waves; But not the riches there that lie In each idol's diamond eye- Not the gaily-jewelled dead Tempt the waters from their bed; For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass- No swellings tell that winds may be Upon some far-off happier sea- No heavings hint that winds have been On seas less hideously serene.
But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave-there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide- As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven. The waves have now a redder glow- The hours are breathing faint and low- And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence.
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 dead,— 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 grey 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 traveller 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 given, 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 traveller, travelling 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 fringèd lid; And thus the sad Soul that here 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.
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