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 tonight:-
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 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 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, This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.”
A Valentine
For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda, Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure Divine-a talisman-an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-The words-the syllables! Do not forget The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor And yet there is in this no Gordian knot Which one might not undo without a sabre, If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing Of poets, by poets-as the name is a poet’s, too, Its letters, although naturally lying Like the knight Pinto-Mendez Ferdinando-Still form a synonym for Truth-Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.
The Valley
of Unrest
Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sunlight lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley’s restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless—
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees That palpitate like the chill seas Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven That rustle through the unquiet Heaven Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye—
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:- from out their fragrant tops Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep:- from off their delicate stems Perennial tears descend in gems.