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FAIRY-LAND

by Edgar Allan Poe


(1829)

Dim vales- and shadowy floods- Over spirits on the wing-


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

-- THE END --

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