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Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe

"In the Greenest of the Valleys"

             In the greenest of our valleys,
               By good angels tenanted,
             Once fair and stately palace --
               Radiant palace --reared its head.
             In the monarch Thought's dominion --
               It stood there!
             Never seraph spread a pinion
               Over fabric half so fair.

             Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
               On its roof did float and flow;
             (This --all this --was in the olden
               Time long ago)
             And every gentle air that dallied,
               In that sweet day,
             Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
               A winged odour went away.

             Wanderers in that happy valley
               Through two luminous windows saw
             Spirits moving musically
               To a lute's well-tuned law,
             Round about a throne, where sitting
             In state his glory well befitting,
               The ruler of the realm was seen.

             And all with pearl and ruby glowing
               Was the fair palace door,
             Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
               And sparkling evermore,
             A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty
               Was but to sing,
             In voices of surpassing beauty,
               The wit and wisdom of their king.

             But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
               Assailed the monarch's high estate;
             (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow
               Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
             And, round about his home, the glory
               That blushed and bloomed
             Is but a dim-remembered story
               Of the old time entombed.

             And travellers now within that valley,
               Through the red-litten windows, see
             Vast forms that move fantastically
               To a discordant melody;
             While, like a rapid ghastly river,
               Through the pale door,
             A hideous throng rush out forever,
               And laugh --but smile no more.

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