Ulalume

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—