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. E. Poe "Ulalume"
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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.
E. Poe
"Ulalume"
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