Fairy-Land. 
By Poe, Edgar Allan. 


Dim vales -and shadowy floods - 
And cloudy-looking 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 moon-dial
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! -Oh, 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 any thing - 
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
(Never-contented things!)
Have brought a specimen
Upon their quivering wings.