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    The Valley of Unrest

    by Edgar Allan Poe
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    _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 visitor 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
    Unceasingly, from morn till even,
    Over the violets there that lie
    In myriad types of the human eye--
    Over the lilies 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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