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 scoriae 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 [bad word] past the stars of the Lion,
To point us the path to the skies-
To the Lethean peace of the [bad word] up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright [bad word] up through the lair of the Lion
With love in her luminous eyes.”

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said: “Sadly this star I [bad word] 
Her pallor I strangely [bad word] 
Ah, hasten!-ah, let us not linger!
Ah, fly!-let us fly!-for we must.”
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings till 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 Sibyllic splendor is beaming
With Hope and in Beauty to-night: -
See!-it flickers up the sky through the night!
Ah, we safely may [bad word] to its gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright-
We surely may [bad word] 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 [bad word] 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! -
'T is 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.“

...