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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.
From a wild clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of Space — out of Time.

Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, 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 waters, lone and dead
Their still waters, still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily

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 worms, and Heaven

For the heart whose woes are legion
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region

For the spirit that walks in shadow
But the traveler, traveling through it,
May not, dare not openly view it!
Never its mysteries are exposed

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

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