Edgar Allan Poe

Yesterday was Edgar Allan Poe’s 209th birthday. While I have not read a lot of poetry in my life, I do count Poe’s The Raven as one of the few that I love. His capacity for rhyming couplets was extraordinary and I love the way that my eyes glide over his words rapidly and relish the sound of them as they react to each other.

This particular poem reminds me of a photo my sister took recently called hello weather, we missed you. I saw the photo first and then I found this poem. I feel like there might be fairies hiding somewhere in the shadows of that image.

Anyway, enjoy, a day late but not a dollar short. 🙂

passive-aggressive-raven

Fairy-Land

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 star-light
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! —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 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.

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