Writing as a professional career. This is the literary life of Edgar Allan Poe, in a nutshell. The poem Fairy-land is takes the reader on a journey through a fantasy landscape. And yes, there are fairies present!

About Fairy-land

Poe created a sort-off magical place or landscape. But, there is a sense of drama here, as shown in the first lines of the poems. A perfect setting for a poem by Poe.

You either love or hate the work of Poe. When reading the comments on some of his work, some still consider him to be a mediocre poet. That doesn’t justify his work at all. This wasn’t mediocre poetry. This is poetry for the acquired taste.

But, read closely! Very, very closely! Behold the first lines of this poem. Is this the answer to where this place exactly is? Probably. Dim vales and huge moons. Wait, moons? Multiple moons. Where does one find more than one moon? Most certainly not on this earth. On other planets, yes. Did Poe know about the existence of planets with more than one moon?

At the time Poem lived (the nineteenth century), astronomy wasn’t the same as it is today. However, take for instance the hypothetical moon of Venus: Neith. This moon was discovered by Giovanni Cassini in 1672. The moon was dismissed as hypothetically. This wasn’t until 1887. But, Venus was not the only planet astronomers studied. This wasn’t the only planet that were considered to have more than one moon.

Still, why can we assume that this poem, Fairy-land, is about another planet? Maybe it’s because we want to believe. We want to be taken upon a magical journey, by Poe. If this journey is not to another planet, it is safe to assume, that Poe is taking us on a journey to the ocean.



Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can’t discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-
Every moment of the night-
Forever changing places-
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon-dial,
One more filmy than the rest
(A kind which, upon trial,
They have found to be the best)
Comes down- still down- and down,
With its centre on the crown
Of a mountain’s eminence,
While its wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Over hamlets, over halls,
Wherever they may be-
O’er the strange woods- o’er the sea-
Over spirits on the wing-
Over every drowsy thing-
And buries them up quite
In a labyrinth of light-
And then, how deep!- O, deep!
Is the passion of their sleep.
In the morning they arise,
And their moony covering
Is soaring in the skies,
With the tempests as they toss,
Like- almost anything-
Or a yellow Albatross.
They use that moon no more
For the same end as before-
Videlicet, a tent-
Which I think extravagant:
Its atomies, however,
Into a shower dissever,
Of which those butterflies
Of Earth, who seek the skies,
And so come down again,
(Never-contented things!)
Have brought a specimen
Upon their quivering wings.

–- Edgar Allan Poe