| |
| THE SKIES they were ashen and sober; | |
| The leaves they were crispèd and sere, | |
| The leaves they were withering and sere; | |
| It was night in the lonesome October | |
| Of my most immemorial year; | 5 |
| 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 Titanic | 10 |
| 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 | 15 |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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!) | 25 |
| 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 | 30 |
| 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 | 35 |
| 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, | 40 |
| 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, | 45 |
| 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.” | 50 |
| |
| 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.” | 55 |
| 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. | 60 |
| |
| I replied—“This is nothing but dreaming: | |
| Let us on by this tremulous light! | |
| Let us bathe in this crystalline light! | |
| Its sibyllic splendor is beaming | |
| With hope and in beauty to-night: | 65 |
| 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, | 70 |
| 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, | 75 |
| 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— | 80 |
| ’T is the vault of thy lost Ulalume!” | |
| |
| Then my heart it grew ashen and sober | |
| As the leaves that were crispèd 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 | |
| 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? | 90 |
| 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.” | |
| |
