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No rays from the holy heaven come down |
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on the long night time of that town |
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But light from out the lurid sea |
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streams up the turrets silently |
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Gleams up the pinnacles far and free |
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gleams up the pinnacles far and free |
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Up domes - up spires - up kingly halls |
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up fanes - up babylon - like walls |
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Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers |
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up sculptured ivy and stone flowers |
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up shadowy long-forgotten bowers |
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up sculptured ivy and stone flowers |
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Up many and many a marvellous shrine |
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whose wreathed friezes interwine |
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the viol, the violet and the vine |
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the viol, the violet and the vine |
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[edgar allan poe] |
