Fairy Land

Title: "Fairy Land."

Author: Edgar Allen Poe.

A leather bound black book, with emobssed red lettering.

Dim vales and shadowy floods

And cloudylooking 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 starlight

With the breath from their pale faces.

About twelve by the moondial,

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,

(Nevercontented things!) Have brought a specimen

Upon their quivering wings.

The End.