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THE VALLEY OF UNREST. Edgar Allan Poe

THE VALLEY OF UNREST

     Once it smiled a silent dell
     Where the people did not dwell;
     They had gone unto the wars,
     Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
     Nightly, from their azure towers,
     To keep watch above the flowers,
     In the midst of which all day
     The red sun-light lazily lay.
     Now each visiter shall confess
     The sad valley’s restlessness.
     Nothing there is motionless—
     Nothing save the airs that brood
     Over the magic solitude.
     Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
     That palpitate like the chill seas
     Around the misty Hebrides!
     Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
     That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
     Uneasily, from morn till even,
     Over the violets there that lie
     In myriad types of the human eye—
     Over the lilies there that wave
     And weep above a nameless grave!
     They wave:—from out their fragrant tops
     Eternal dews come down in drops.
     They weep:—from off their delicate stems
     Perennial tears descend in gems.

1831.


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