Youtor
A Ghostly Tale Ulalume
>> YOUR LINK HERE: ___ http://youtube.com/watch?v=psE5AcYtTeY
Edgar Allan Poe's 'Ulalume: A Ballad' -- my voice performance. • 'Ulalume' is a poem about a ghostly October journey In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. • • -------MORE FROM JADE JODDLE • 👉 Get a FREE lesson “12 Words You Pronounce Wrong”: https://jadejoddle.com/#signup • 👉 Get a clear and confident accent: https://clearaccent.co.uk/ • 👉 Speak with a professional British accent: https://jadejoddle.samcart.com/produc... • 🎁 Ways to donate to Jade: https://jadejoddle.com/downloads/Dona... • • The skies they were ashen and sober; • The leaves they were crispéd 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— • 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)— • We 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 has come past the stars of the Lion • To point us the path to the skies— • 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. • 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. • 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 Sybilic splendor is beaming • With Hope and in Beauty to-night:— • 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, • 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, • 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— • 'Tis 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 • 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, • Oh, what demon has 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— • In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. • Said we, then—the two, then— Ah, can it • Have been that the woodlandish ghouls— • The pitiful, the merciful ghouls— • To bar up our way and to ban it • From the secret that lies in these wolds— • From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds— • Had drawn up the spectre of a planet • From the limbo of lunary souls— • This sinfully scintillant planet • From the Hell of the planetary souls?
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