Ulalume

The skies they were ashen and sober;
﻿The leaves they were crisped and sere—
﻿The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
﻿Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
﻿In the misty mid region of Weir—
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
﻿In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Here once, through an alley Titantic,
﻿Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul—
﻿Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
﻿As the scoriac rivers that roll—
﻿As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
﻿In the ultimate climes of the pole—
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
﻿In the realms of the boreal pole.
Our talk had been serious and sober,
﻿But our thoughts they were palsied and sere—
﻿Our memories were treacherous and sere—
For we knew not the month was October,
﻿And we marked not the night of the year—
﻿(Ah, night of all nights in the year!)
We noted not the dim lake of Auber—
﻿(Though once we had journeyed down here)—
Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
﻿Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
And now, as the night was senescent
﻿And star-dials pointed to morn—
﻿As the star-dials hinted of morn—
At the end of our path a liquescent
﻿And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
﻿Arose with a duplicate horn—
Astarte's bediamonded crescent
﻿Distinct with its duplicate horn.
And I said—"She is warmer than Dian:
﻿She rolls through an ether of sighs—
﻿She revels in a region of sighs:
She has seen that the tears are not dry on
﻿These cheeks, where the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the Lion
﻿To point us the path to the skies—
﻿To the Lethean peace of the skies—
Come up, in despite of the Lion,
﻿To shine on us with her bright eyes—
Come up through the lair of the Lion,
﻿With love in her luminous eyes."
But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
﻿Said—"Sadly this star I mistrust—
﻿Her pallor I strangely mistrust: —
Oh, hasten!—oh, let us not linger!
﻿Oh, fly!—let us fly!—for we must."
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
﻿Wings until they trailed in the dust—
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
﻿Plumes till they trailed in the dust—
﻿Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.
I replied—"This is nothing but dreaming:
﻿Let us on by this tremulous light!
﻿Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its Sybilic splendor is beaming
﻿With Hope and in Beauty to-night:—
﻿See!—it flickers up the sky through the night!
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,
﻿And be sure it will lead us aright—
We safely may trust to a gleaming
﻿That cannot but guide us aright,
﻿Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."
Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
﻿And tempted her out of her gloom—
﻿And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista,
﻿But were stopped by the door of a tomb—
﻿By the door of a legended tomb;
And I said—"What is written, sweet sister,
﻿On the door of this legended tomb?"
﻿She replied—"Ulalume—Ulalume—
﻿'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!"
Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
﻿As the leaves that were crisped and sere—
﻿As the leaves that were withering and sere,
And I cried—"It was surely October
﻿On this very night of last year
﻿That I journeyed—I journeyed down here—
﻿That I brought a dread burden down here—
﻿On this night of all nights in the year,
﻿Ah, what demon has tempted me here?
Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber—
﻿This misty mid region of Weir—
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
﻿This ghoul-hannted woodland of Weir."
Category:EAP
Category:Poetry