by Edgar Allan Poe

In the greenest of our valleys

By good angels tenanted,

Once a fair and stately palace—

Radiant palace—reared its head.

In the monarch Thought's dominion—

It stood there!

Never seraph spread a pinion

Over fabric half so fair!

 

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,

On its roof did float and flow,

(This—all this—was in the olden Time long ago),

And every gentle air that dallied,

In that sweet day,

Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,

A winged odor went away.

 

Wanderers in that happy valley,

Through two luminous windows, saw

Spirits moving musically,

To a lute's well-tun?d law,

Bound about a throne where, sitting

(Porphyrogene!)

In state his glory well befitting,

The ruler of the realm was seen.

 

And all with pearl and ruby glowing

Was the fair palace door,

Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,

And sparkling evermore,

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty

Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty,

The wit and wisdom of their king.

 

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

Assailed the monarch's high estate.

(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate !)

And round about his home the glory

That blushed and bloomed,

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.

 

And travellers, now, within that valley,

Through the red-litten windows see

Vast forms, that move fantastically

To a discordant melody,

While, like a ghastly rapid river,

Through the pale door

A hideous throng rush out forever

And laugh—but smile no more.

（Source: thingsthatgoboo.com，英語點(diǎn)津Julie編輯）