Trembling I write my dream, and recollect...

Trembling I write my dream, and recollect

A fearful vision at the midnight hour;

So late, Death o'er me spread his sable wings,

Painted with fancies of malignant power!

Such was the dream the sage Chaldean saw

Disclos'd to him that felt heav'n' s vengeful rod,

Such was the ghost, who through deep silence cry'd,

Shall mortal man — be juster than his God?

Let others draw from smiling skies their theme,

And tell of climes that boast unfading light,

I draw a darker scene, replete with gloom,

I sing the horrors of the House of Night.

Stranger, believe the truth experience tells,

Poetic dreams are of a finer cast

Than those which o'er the sober brain diffus'd,

Are but a repetition of some action past.

Fancy, I own thy power — when sunk in sleep

Thou play'st thy wild delusive part so well

You lift me into immortality,

Depict new heavens, or draw the scenes of hell.

By some sad means, when Reason holds no sway,

Lonely I rov'd at midnight o'er a plain

Where murmuring streams and mingling rivers flow

Far to their springs, or seek the sea again.

Sweet vernal May! tho’ then thy woods in bloom

Flourish'd, yet nought of this could Fancy see,

No wild pinks bless'd the meads, no green the fields,

And naked seem'd to stand each lifeless tree:

Dark was the sky, and not one friendly star

Shone from the zenith or horizon, clear,

Mist sate upon the woods, and darkness rode

In her black chariot, with a wild career.

And from the woods the late resounding note

Issued of the loquacious Whip-poor-will,

Hoarse, howling dogs, and nightly roving wolves

Clamour'd from far off cliffs invisible.