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Wiersz The Valley Of Unrest

Far away – far away –
Far away – as far at least
Lies that valley as the day
Down within the golden east –
All things lovely – are not they
Far away – far away?

It is called The Valley Nis.
And a Syriac tale there is
Thereabout which Time hath said
Shall not be interpreted.
Something about Satan’s dart –
Something about angel wings –
Much about a broken heart –
All about unhappy things:
But ‚the Valley Nis” at best
Means ‚the valley of unrest’.

Once It smil’d, a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell,
Having gone unto the wars –
And the sly, mysterious stars,
With a visage full of meaning,
O’er the unguarded flowers were leaning:
Or the sun ray dripp’d all red
Thro’ the tulips overhead,
The grew paler as it felt
On the quiet Asphodel.

Now the Unhappy Shall confess
Nothing there is motionless:
Helen, like thy human eye
There th’ uneasy violets lie –
There the reedy grass doth wave
Over the old forgotten grave –
One by one from the treetop
There the eternal dews do drop –
There the vague and dreamy trees
Do roll like seas in northern breeze
Around the stormy Hebrides –
There the gorgeous clouds do fly,
Rustling everlastingly,
Through the terror – stricken sky,
Rolling like a waterfall
O’er th’ horizon’s fiery wall –
There the moon doth shine by night
With a most unsteady light –
There the sun doth reel by day
‚Over the hills and far away’.


Wiersz The Valley Of Unrest - Edgar Allan Poe