On Where He Used to Roam
The Haunted Palace
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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 wingèd odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy
valley,
Through two luminous
windows, saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute’s well-tunèd law,
Round 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.
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