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5
DREAM-MERE
On a root, knobb'd, gnarl'd, and lonely,
Overstuck with toadstools only,
Sits an Eidolon named Night,—
On a toadstool half upright.
I have seen this sprite but newly,
And I look'd at him quite throughly,
In his ultimate dim Thulè,
As he sate there half upright,
In a wild weird clime, and singing sublime,
Out of tune—out of time.
Overstuck with toadstools only,
Sits an Eidolon named Night,—
On a toadstool half upright.
I have seen this sprite but newly,
And I look'd at him quite throughly,
In his ultimate dim Thulè,
As he sate there half upright,
In a wild weird clime, and singing sublime,
Out of tune—out of time.
Bottomless hollows and roaring floods,
And caves and chasms and haunted woods,
Forms that no man can discover
For the dews that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Shoreless seas that still aspire,
Surging to hellish heavens of fire;
Boundless lakes all lone and dead,
Where sometimes Night lies outspread
In the waters still and chilly,
With his nose in a lolling lily.
And caves and chasms and haunted woods,
Forms that no man can discover
For the dews that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Shoreless seas that still aspire,
Surging to hellish heavens of fire;
Boundless lakes all lone and dead,
Where sometimes Night lies outspread
In the waters still and chilly,
With his nose in a lolling lily.
By these shoreless lakes outspread,
These lone waters, lone and dead,
These lone waters, still and chilly
(Night's nose in the lolling lily);
By these toppling crags,—no river
Murmurs near, no leaflets quiver,
All so dark and dead and chilly;
By these dank woods, by the swamp
Where the toad and bull-frog romp;—
By these dismal tarns, by the holes
Where dwell the Ghouls—
Poor damp souls!
By each corner most unjolly,
By each crevice melancholy,
By my own poetic folly—
Frenzy of poetic drift,
In an unexpected rift,
There, I swear, I met aghast
In a sheet the unmemoried Past,
In a shroud a Ghost whose eye
Looking into vacancy
Made me shudder, start, and sigh,—
One forgotten, from thought outdriven,
I know not whether on Earth or in Heaven.
These lone waters, lone and dead,
These lone waters, still and chilly
(Night's nose in the lolling lily);
By these toppling crags,—no river
Murmurs near, no leaflets quiver,
6
By these dank woods, by the swamp
Where the toad and bull-frog romp;—
By these dismal tarns, by the holes
Where dwell the Ghouls—
Poor damp souls!
By each corner most unjolly,
By each crevice melancholy,
By my own poetic folly—
Frenzy of poetic drift,
In an unexpected rift,
There, I swear, I met aghast
In a sheet the unmemoried Past,
In a shroud a Ghost whose eye
Looking into vacancy
Made me shudder, start, and sigh,—
One forgotten, from thought outdriven,
I know not whether on Earth or in Heaven.
For the heart whose woes are legion
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region—
This same desert drear of Night,
Where the Eidolon sits upright
On his toadstool, or outspread
Lies lolling on his lily-bed,—
For the spirit that likes a shadow
'Tis, O 'tis an Eldorado,—
Though the traveler, traveling through it,
Ever fails to interview it
(No one ever openly knew it),
For its mysteries all are closed
By the darkness superposed
Of the Eidolon, who, I ween,
Wills not the formless should be seen:
And thus the sad soul that here passes
Is like a blind ass without glasses.
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region—
This same desert drear of Night,
Where the Eidolon sits upright
On his toadstool, or outspread
Lies lolling on his lily-bed,—
For the spirit that likes a shadow
'Tis, O 'tis an Eldorado,—
Though the traveler, traveling through it,
Ever fails to interview it
(No one ever openly knew it),
For its mysteries all are closed
By the darkness superposed
7
Wills not the formless should be seen:
And thus the sad soul that here passes
Is like a blind ass without glasses.
On his root, knobb'd, gnarl'd, and lonely,
Overstuck with toadstools only,
Squats the Eidolon named Night,
Squats in sad poetic plight.
Is there more, and would you know it,
Fix the headgear of the Poet,
Wandering God knows where, but newly
From this ultimate dim Thulè.
Overstuck with toadstools only,
Squats the Eidolon named Night,
Squats in sad poetic plight.
Is there more, and would you know it,
Fix the headgear of the Poet,
Wandering God knows where, but newly
From this ultimate dim Thulè.
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