by Edgar Allan Poe By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule - From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of Space - out of Time. Bottomless vales and boundless floods, And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods, With forms that no man can discover For the dews that drip all over; Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a shore; Seas that restlessly aspire, Surging, unto skies of fire; Lakes that endlessly outspread Their lone waters - lone and dead, Their still waters - still and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily. By the lakes that thus outspread Their lone waters, lone and dead, - Their sad waters, sad and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily, - By the mountains - near the river Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever, -- By the grey woods, - by the swamp Where the toad and the newt encamp, By the dismal tarns and pools Where dwell the Ghouls, - By each spot the most unholy - In each nook most melancholy, - There the traveller meets aghast Sheeted Memories of the Past - Shrouded forms that start and sigh As they pass the wanderer by - White-robed forms of friends long given, In agony, to the Earth - and Heaven. For the heart whose woes are legion 'Tis a peaceful, soothing region - For the spirit that walks in shadow 'Tis - oh, 'tis an Eldorado! But the traveller, travelling through it, May not - dare not openly view it; Never its mysteries are exposed To the weak human eyes unclosed; So wills its King, who hath forbid The uplifting of the fringed lid; And thus the sad Soul that here passes Beholds it but through darkened glasses. By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have wandered home but newly From this ultimate dim Thule.