" 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 sunlight 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 there 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. "

― Edgar Allan Poe , Poemas