UlalumeThe skies they were ashen and sober;The leaves they were

« Ulalume Edgar Allan Poe 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 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 - They 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 of 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 -. »