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The skies they were ashen and sober;
|
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| The leaves they were crisped and sere - |
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| The leaves they were withering and sere; |
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| It was night in the lonesome October |
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| Of my most immemorial year; |
5 |
| It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, |
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| In the misty mid region of Weir - |
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| It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, |
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| In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. |
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| Here once, through an alley Titanic, |
10 |
| Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul - |
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| Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. |
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| There were days when my heart was volcanic |
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| As the scoriac rivers that roll - |
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| As the lavas that restlessly roll |
15 |
| Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek |
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| In the ultimate climes of the pole - |
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| That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek |
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| In the realms of the boreal pole. |
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| |
|
| Our talk had been serious and sober, |
20 |
| But our thoughts they were palsied and sere - |
|
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Our memories were treacherous and sere -
|
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| For we knew not the month was October, |
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| And we marked not the night of the year - |
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| (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) |
25 |
| We noted not the dim lake of Auber - |
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| (Though once we had journeyed down here) - |
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| We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, |
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| Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. |
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| |
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| And now, as the night was senescent |
30 |
|
And star-dials pointed to morn -
|
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| As the star-dials hinted of morn - |
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| At the end of our path a liquescent |
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| And nebulous lustre was born, |
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| Out of which a miraculous crescent |
35 |
| Arose with a duplicate horn - |
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| Astarte's bediamonded crescent |
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| Distinct with its duplicate horn. |
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| |
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| And I said - "She is warmer than Dian: |
|
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She rolls through an ether of sighs -
|
40 |
| She revels in a region of sighs: |
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| She has seen that the tears are not dry on |
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| These cheeks, where the worm never dies, |
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| And has come past the stars of the Lion |
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| To point us the path to the skies - |
45 |
| To the Lethean peace of the skies - |
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| Come up, in despite of the Lion, |
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| To shine on us with her bright eyes - |
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| Come up through the lair of the Lion |
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| With Love in her luminous eyes." |
50 |
| |
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| But Psyche, uplifting her finger, |
|
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Said ? "Sadly this star I mistrust -
|
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| Her pallor I strangely mistrust: - |
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| Oh, hasten! - oh, let us not linger! |
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| Oh, fly! - let us fly! - for we must." |
55 |
| In terror she spoke; letting sink her |
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| Wings till they trailed in the dust - |
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| In agony sobbed, letting sink her |
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| Plumes till they trailed in the dust - |
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| Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. |
60 |
| |
|
| I replied - "This is nothing but dreaming : |
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| Let us on by this tremulous light! |
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| Let us bathe in this crystalline light! |
|
|
Its Sybillic splendor is beaming
|
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| With Hope and in Beauty to-night: - |
65 |
| See! - it flickers up the sky through the night! |
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| Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, |
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| And be sure it will lead us aright - |
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| We safely may trust to a gleaming |
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| That cannot but guide us aright, |
70 |
| Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." |
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| |
|
|
Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
|
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| And tempted her out of her gloom - |
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| And conquered her scruples and gloom: |
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| And we passed to the end of the vista, |
75 |
| And were stopped by the door of a tomb - |
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| By the door of a legended tomb; |
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| And I said - "What is written, sweet sister, |
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| On the door of this legended tomb?" |
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| She replied - "Ulalume - Ulalume - |
80 |
|
'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 |
85 |
| On this very night of last year |
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| That I journeyed - I journeyed down here - |
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| That I brought a dread burden down here - |
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| On this night of all nights in the year, |
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| Oh, what demon has tempted me here? |
90 |
| Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber - |
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| This misty mid region of Weir - |
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| Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, |
|
|
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."
|
|
| |
|
| Said we, then - the two, then -" Ah, can it |
95 |
|
Have been that the woodlandish ghouls -
|
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| The pitiful, the merciful ghouls - |
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| To bar up our way and to ban it |
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| From the secret that lies in these wolds - |
|
| From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds - |
100 |
| Had drawn up the spectre of a planet |
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| From the limbo of lunary souls - |
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| This sinfully scintillant planet |
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| From the Hell of the planetary souls?" |
|
