Instrumental

Bottomless vales and boundless floods, And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods, With forms that no man can discover For the tears 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 waterslone 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. Dreamland - Dreamland! 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 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 clime that lieth, sublime, Out of Space - Out of Time. 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. Dreamland - Dreamland! 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 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 clime that lieth, sublime, Out of Space - Out of Time. 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 eye 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.

In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed- But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted. Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him with a ray Turned back upon the past? That holy dream- that holy dream, While all the world were chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam, A lonely spirit guiding. What though that light, thro' storm and night, So trembled from afar What could there be more purely bright In Truth's day-star?

Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream! My spirit not awakening, till the beam Of an Eternity should bring the morrow. Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow, 'Twere better than the cold reality Of waking life, to him whose heart must be, A chaos of deep passion, from his birth. But should it be - that dream eternally Continuing as dreams have been to me In my young boyhood should it thus be given, 'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven. For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright I'm the summer sky, in dreams of living light And loveliness, have left my very heart In climes of my imagining, apart From mine own home, with beings that have been Of mine own thought what more could I have seen? 'Twas once - and only once - and the wild hour From my remembrance shall not pass- some power Or spell had bound me - 'twas the chilly wind Came o'er me in the night, and left behind Its image on my spirit - or the moon Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon Too coldly - or the stars - however it was That dream was as that night-wind let it pass. I have been happy, tho' in a dream. I have been happy- and I love the theme: Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life, As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife Of semblance with reality, which brings To the delirious eye, more lovely things Of Paradise and Love - and all our own! Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.

There was a damned successful Poet; There was a Woman like the Sun. And they were dead. They did not know it. They did not know their time was done. They did not know his hymns Were silence; and her limbs, That had served Love so well, Dust, and a filthy smell. And so one day, as ever of old, Hands out, they hurried, knee to knee; On fire to cling and kiss and hold And, in the other's eyes, to see Each his own tiny face, And in that long embrace Feel lip and breast grow warm To breast and lip and arm. So knee to knee they sped again, And laugh to laugh they ran, I'm told, Across the streets of Hell... And then They suddenly felt the wind blow cold, And knew, so closely pressed, Chill air on lip and breast, And, with a sick surprise, The emptiness of eyes.

Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness- for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still. The night, though clear, shall frown, And the stars shall not look down From their high thrones in the Heaven With light like hope to mortals given, But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee for ever. Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, Now are visions ne'er to vanish; From thy spirit shall they pass No more, like dew-drop from the grass. The breeze, the breath of God, is still, And the mist upon the hill Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token. How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries!

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?

They cut it down, and where the pitch-black aisles Of forest night had hid eternal things, They scaled the sky with towers and marble piles To make a city for their revellings. White and amazing to the lands around That wondrous wealth of domes and turrets rose; Crystal and ivory, sublimely crowned With pinnacles that bore unmelting snows. And through its halls the pipe and sistrum rang, While wine and riot brought their scarlet stains; Never a voice of elder marvels sang, Nor any eye called up the hills and plains. Thus down the years, till on one purple night A drunken minstrel in his careless verse Spoke the vile words that should not see the light, And stirred the shadows of an ancient curse. Forests may fall, but not the dusk they shield; So on the spot where that proud city stood, The shuddering dawn no single stone revealed, But fled the blackness of a primal wood.

They sleep within... I cower to the earth, I waking, I only. High and cold thou dreamest, O queen, high-dreaming and lonely. We have slept too long, who can hardly win The white one flame, and the night-long crying; The viewless passers; the world's low sighing With desire, with yearning, To the fire unburning, To the heatless fire, to the flameless ecstasy!... Helpless I lie. And around me the feet of thy watchers tread. There is a rumour and a radiance of wings above my head, An intolerable radiance of wings... All the earth grows fire, White lips of desire Brushing cool on the forehead, croon slumbrous things. Earth fades; and the air is thrilled with ways, Dewy paths full of comfort. And radiant bands, The gracious presence of friendly hands, Help the blind one, the glad one, who stumbles and strays, Stretching wavering hands, up, up, through the praise Of a myriad silver trumpets, through cries, To all glory, to all gladness, to the infinite height, To the gracious, the unmoving, the mother eyes, And the laughter, and the lips, of light.