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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 and alley Titanic,
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:
Ah, hasten! -ah, let us not
linger!
Ah, 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 splendour is beaming
With Hope
and in Beauty tonight! -
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 hath 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-haunted woodland of Weir."
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