The New 'Ulalume
The skies they were ashen and sober,
The leaves they were crisped and sere,
' ' ' withering ' '
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
' ' down ' ' dark tarn ' '
In the misty mid region of Weir,
' ' ghoul-haunted woodland ' '
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
To -- -- --. Ulalume: A Ballad
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.
There 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),
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 until 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 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.'
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Ulalume
(e.a.poe)
Jeff performed a reading of this poem by edgar allan poe for the tribute compilation closed on account of rabies, produced by hal willner.
The skies 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 scoriac rivers that roll,
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down yaaneck
In the ultimate climes of the pole,
That groan as they roll down mount yaaneck
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
Astartes bediamonded crescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.
And I said: she is warmer than dian;
She rolls through an ether of sighs,
She reveals 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 until 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!
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,
Of 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.
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?
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Another Lonesome Morning
(clinton codack/wendy special)
Another lonesome morning
Another long lonesome day
Youll have to live without him
The morning seemed to say
Another lonesome morning
You thought you didnt care
But morning breezes find you
Wishing he were there
Bobwhite sings his same old song
Trying hard to please
And you hear the sound
That he used to love
Thru the rustlin of the leaves
Thru the rustlin of the leaves
You losing him has taught you
That you wanted him to stay
And you know that all another lonesome morning brings
Is another lonesome day
All another lonesome morning brings
Is another lonesome day
Is another lonesome day
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in Gloom Hums a Red Flamingo
Eek! On the moonless sky, grey clouds are ashen and sober;
Trees are swaying helter-skelter with leaves tousled and sere
As west wind drives the minute nature in a conspirative plot,
voodooed by an autumn night, a lonesome pine in an orphic thought.
Jibber, jabber joo! Wig, wiggly woo in lonely flu - boo hoo!
Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in gloom hums a red flamingo.
Gee! In a deserted and isolated lonesome valley, I met my ally;
while Ploughing a lonely furrow, I caught him - a nervous Nelly;
His soul is a tattered cloud and his heart is a battered sea
As tender sapling in him is not watered, oh, I met him in me.
Jibber, jabber joo! Wig, wiggly woo in lonely flu - boo hoo!
Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in gloom hums a red flamingo.
hardy-har-har! My whole world went black with air looked black,
Sun looked black; I laid in bed and stared at room walls dark,
Outside I still always appear bright with a mask, Ooh-la-la
Hoodooed by single crow I remain in a pitch dark inside, blah!
Jibber, jabber joo! Wig, wiggly woo in lonely flu - boo hoo!
Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in gloom hums a red flamingo.
Hoot-hoot! It's loneliness that makes the brassiest noise
Without any voice, it tomahawks lonely-hearts, oh dear boys;
Before it bites, even rattlesnake warns you in a chiller-thriller;
Alas! Without any sound Lonely Cyclops burns you - a whale killer.
Jibber, jabber joo! Wig, wiggly woo in lonely flu - boo hoo!
Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in gloom hums a red flamingo
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Im So Lonesome I Could Cry
Hank williams
Did you hear that lonesome whippoorwill?
He sounds too blue to fly
The midnight train is whining low
And Im so lonesome I could cry
Did you ever see a night so long
When time goes crawlin by?
The moon just went behind a cloud
And Im so lonesome I could cry
Did you ever see a robin weep
When leaves begin to die?
That means hes lost the will to live
And Im so lonesome I could cry
The silence of a fallin star
Lights up a purple sky
And as I wonder where you are
Im so lonesome I could cry
Yeah i-i could cry-eye-eye
I could cry-eye, eye-eye-eye, i-i could cry-eye
I could cry-eye, oh-oh-oh-oh
I-i could cry, I could cry
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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October, 1863
Month of storm, beat shocks and sheaves,
Withered flowers, and falling leaves,
Sullen clouds that darkly loom
Like the shadows of the tomb;
Looks the sun through murky haze
With a weird and watery gaze,
Lighting up the fields and streams,
Vanishing like lightning gleams.
Brooks that sung through mead and dingle
With a silvery tinkle tingle,
Foaming, turbid, rush along
With a rudely brawling song.
Robin of the noiseless wing
And ruddy vest, begins to sing
His wintry lay, and, flitting by,
Scans me with his bold, bright eye.
Sore, October, thou hast grieved me,
Ah! thine advent hath deceived me,
For thou cam'st with thunder crashing,
Deadly lightnings round thee flashing,
Furious gales, and drenching rains,
Sweeping o'er the ravished plains.
I would welcome thee, October,
Gracious, mild, serene, and sober;
With thy fields of russet hue,
With thy skies of hazy blue,
With thy sun, whose chastened glory
Tells brown Autumn's latest story.
Month of all the circling year,
To my soul's best feelings dear,
Sweet the balm thou oft hast poured
When my heart had quailed and cowered,
And shrunk into its inner cell
To bleed unseen. I may not tell
The bitter woes, the chilling fears,
The grief that lies 'too deep for tears,'
The venomed sting, whose burning smart
Thrills o'er the life-strings of my heart.
O then how sweet the soft solace,
To gaze upon thy saintly face,
So dreamy, tender, meek, and calm;
My spirit drank the soothing balm,
The sense of stillness and repose
That round thee like a halo flows.
Dear to you above all others,
You, my toiling, care-worn brothers,
Is the needed, blessed boon
Of your weekly afternoon,
When, with grateful heart and eyes,
'Neath our 'Indian summer' skies,
Our own October, forth ye go
Picking berry, nùt, and sloe.
While the woodlands dim and sere,
Their treasure shed to form the bier-
The death-bed of the waning year-
Think of your own so very near:
So learn, so live, that each October
Finds you more wise, more chaste, more sober.
poem by Janet Hamilton
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An Autumn Sonnet
These little presents of your tenderness,
Although less grand a gift than was your love,
Are dear to me in this October stress
Of wind and war and whirling leaves above.
They comfort my soul's Autumn, and they prove
How little time can do, to ban or bless,
How much ourselves. You willed the years should move
Back in their cycle. And behold, love, this!
--Now, therefore, let us mark this fortunate day,
And use it for our feast day. Every year
Let us, when winds are high and the leaves fall,
Hold in this house our love's memorial,
Sitting thus hand in hand. Still let me lay
As in the happy days, ere leaves were sere,
My head upon your lap and call you ``dear.''
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Autumn comes [Întomnare]
The stars mirrored by the lake, among water lily leaves,
Turned the lake into a glade, fire flies into small stars,
And this glade appears to glow, as if amber snow receives,
Because golden drops stand out like the tips of lit cigars.
When the lucent night puts on a fair vestment in this hush,
The frogs stop to wail at once and keep silent for a while;
And the moon on water, lo, like a saint begins to rush,
Withering the frightened leaves with its wry and deadly smile.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Beautiful Anarchist
The ruse of rain was immense, immaculate clairvoyance
Twittering sighs from broken families and hieroglyphic junkies
The harsh, whipping hail blew dust of debauchery into a silver lake
Quietly they sober
Growing weary in the dreary alchemy of night
The matrix of black liquid was a dancing star
A derelict harlot screaming for vengeance
A sea of rape
The angry benevolence of the clitoris
AH!
The warm ashen dust of resin
Beat soft
Young nimbus
The clowns grow lonesome in your shroud
Tearing up wistfully
Lolling and making waves
Clearly they shy
In your distinct presence
The mark of the beast
905
Hark my limpid battle cry
You beautiful anarchist
Im So Lonesome I Could Cry
Hear the lonesome whiperwill
He sounds too blue to fly
The midnight train is whining low
Im so lonesome I could cry
Ive never seen a night so long
When time goes crawling by
The moon just went behind a cloud
To hide its face and cry
Did you ever see a robin weep
When leaves begin to die
That means hes lost the will to live
Im so lonesome I could cry
The silence of a falling star
Lights up a purple sky
And as I wonder where you are
Im so lonesome I could cry
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballad of Autumn
DOWN harvest headlands the fairy host
Of the poppy banners have flashed and fled,
The lilies have faded like ghost and ghost,
The ripe rose rots in the garden bed.
The grain is garnered, the blooms are shed,
Convolvulus springs on the snowdrop’s bier,
In her stranded gold is the silver thread
Of the first grey hair i’ the head o’ the year.
Like an arrant knave from a bootless boast,
The fire-wind back to his North has sped
To harry the manes of a haunted coast
On a far sea-rim where the stars are dead.
Wistful the welkin with wordless dread,
Mournful the uplands, all ashen sere—
Sad for the snow on a beauteous head—
For the first grey hair i’ the head o’ the year.
Time trysts with Death at the finger-post,
Where the broken issues of life are wed—
Intone no dirges, fill up the toast
To the troops that trip it with silent tread,
Merry we’ll make it tho’ skies be lead,
And March-wind’s moan be a minstrel drear—
A truce to trouble!—we’ll drink instead
To the first grey hair i’ the head o’ the year.
South Esk sings on where the furze-fires spread,
But we’ll mourn no more as of old, my dear,
When gorse flames golden and briars flush red
With the first grey hair i’ the head o’ the year.
poem by Marie E J Pitt
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The Skylark
'It is the skylark come.' For shame!
Robert-a-Cockney is thy name:
Robert-a-Field would surely know
That skylarks, bless them, never go!
* * *
Love of my life, bear witness here
How we have heard them all the year;
How to the skylark's song are set
The days we never can forget.
At Rustington, do you remember?
We heard the skylarks in December;
In January above the snow
They sang to us by Hurstmonceux
Once in the keenest airs of March
We heard them near the Marble Arch;
Their April song thrilled Tonbridge air;
May found them singing everywhere;
And oh, in Sheppey, how their tune
Rhymed with the bean-flower scent in June.
One unforgotten day at Rye
They sang a love-song in July;
In August, hard by Lewes town,
They sang of joy 'twixt sky and down;
And in September's golden spell
We heard them singing on Scaw Fell.
October's leaves were brown and sere,
But skylarks sang by Teston Weir;
And in November, at Mount's Bay,
They sang upon our wedding day!
* * *
Mr.-a-Field, go forth, go forth,
Go east and west and south and north;
You'll always find the furze in flower,
Find every hour the lovers' hour,
And, by my faith in love and rhyme,
The skylark singing all the time!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Lonesome Day
Baby once I thought I knew
Everything I needed to know about you
Your sweet whisper, your tender touch
I didnt really know that much
Jokes on me, its gonna be okay
If I can just get through this lonesome day
Lonesome day
Hells brewing, dark suns on the rise
This storm will blow through, by and by
House is on fire, vipers in the grass
Little revenge and this too shall pass
This too shall pass, darling
Yeah Im gonna pray
Right now, all I gots this lonesome day
Lonesome day
Its alright, its alright, its alright, yeah
Its alright, its alright, its alright, yeah
Its alright, its alright, its alright, yeah
Its alright, its alright
Better ask questions before you shoot
Deceit and betrayals a bitter fruit
Its hard to swallow come time to pay
That taste on your tongue dont easily slip away
Thy kingdom come, Im gonna find my way
Yeah, through this lonesome day
Lonesome day
Lonesome day
Lonesome day
Its alright, its alright, its alright, yeah
Its alright, its alright, its alright, yeah
Its alright, its alright, its alright, yeah
Its alright, its alright, its alright, yeah
Its alright, its alright, its alright, yeah
Its alright, its alright, its alright, yeah
Lonesome day
Lonesome day
Lonesome day
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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October in New Zealand
O JUNE has her diamonds, her diamonds of sheen,
Meet for a queen’s neck, if Death had e’er a queen!
June has her blue days, jewels of delight,
Set in the ivory of Alp-land white,—
But October, October’s the lady o’ the year!
O January’s garland is redder than the rose,
And the wine-red ruby of January glows
All the way to madness and half the way to sin,
When sleep is in the poppy and fire is in the whin!
But October, October’s the lady o’ the year!
October will ride in a mantle o’ the vair,
With the flower o’ the quince in her dew-wet hair;
October will ride to the gates of the day,
With the bluebells ringing on her maiden way;—
For October, October’s the lady o’ the year!
poem by Jessie Mackay
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Lonesome Sundown
Shes a lonely girl
Lost in the world
Got love in her eyes for me
Shes a sweet young thing
Brings me dreams
In a box she made for me
Lonesome sundown, this is gonna be hard
Its a lonesome sundown, this is gonna be hard
I know so dont let go, this is gonna be hard
Ill never let you down
This love Ive found
It means too much to me
And I stand accused
Outside the law
But you are all I need
Lonesome sundown, this is gonna be hard
Yeah a lonesome sundown, this is gonna be hard
I know
So dont let go this is gonna be hard
Redemption comes
To those who wait
Forgiveness is the key
And I wish you love
And I wish you hope
Please believe in me
And its a lonesome sundown, this is gonna be hard
Yeah a lonesome sundown, this is gonna be hard
I know
So dont let go this is gonna be hard
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Im So Lonesome I Could Cry
(words & music by williams)
Hear that lonesome winter bird
He sounds too blue to fly
The midnight train is whining low
Im so lonesome I could cry
Did you ever see a robin weep
When leaves began to die
That means hes lost the will to live
Im so lonesome I could cry
The silence of a falling star
Lights up a purple sky
And as I wonder where you are
Im so lonesome I could cry
Im so lonesome I could cry
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death of Dusk
The sun resigns,
bleeds out the vestiges –
remnants of the day.
Exsanguination edges into twilight:
red-brown hangs;
upwards darkens:
blue-brown,
blue-black,
death-black,
disquiet – furtive,
like ghoul-ridden fog.
A sombre moon assumes its role,
gushing silver-white lymph upon the muted scape –
a prequel of supernatural undertones
to chill the scene,
ice the spine,
kill the brain –
we have unnerved the very firmament.
But now a shadow closing down the globe:
dinosaurian cloud shrouds the moon glaze,
claims the late hour –
declared in a dying crow caw.
I, the hidden owl
– nemesis of claustrophobic minds –
awake! for mammal flesh –
fresh, jerking out its warmth in dance of death.
Rock-still I perch in sculptured oneness
with my crooked night-tree,
emanating nocturnal allure.
Together we scowl
together we play the dark
upon the land and sky
and mind
while you lie as dead in your box.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Spring, My Dear
The spring, my dear,
Is no longer spring.
Does the blackbird sing
What he sang last year?
Are the skies the old
Immemorial blue?
Or am I, or are you,
Grown cold?
Though life be change,
It is hard to bear
When the old sweet air
Sounds forced and strange.
To be out of tune,
Plain You and I . . .
It were better to die,
And soon!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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High Lonesome
High in a tree on the top of the hill
By the light of the lonesome ol moon
I hear the call of a lone whipporwill
Singing his mournful tune.
Way off in the night blows the long freight train
With a roar and a ramble of wheels
My poor heart is breaking with every refrain
Cause it sounds just like the way I feel.
And it's high lonesome
High lonesome, heartbroken and blue
High lonesome
Lil darling, I'm lonesome for you.
--- Instrumental ---
Do you ever get weary roamin around
Do you think of the sweet love we knew
Do you ever get lonesome the way I am now
Lil darling I'm lonesome for you.
And it's high lonesome
High lonesome heartbroken and blue
Its a high lonesome
Lil darling I'm lonesome for you.
It's high lonesome
Lil darling I'm lonesome for you...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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[revised 11-19-09] Getting Through October and Beyond
What was it about October
That made us think
Spring would not be coming back?
The weather rattled at us,
Leaves fell,
Leaving us feeling
It's not going to get any better.
No amount of experience or
Logic will helped,
Spring last year didn't help,
When the shorter days of
Fall and Winter closed in.
Beyond October?
What was it about October
That assured us
Spring will be coming back?
The weather hinted of changes,
Leaves brave enough
To let go one by one,
Or be pushed in bunches by the wind
Took momentary flight, and
Abandoned their accustomed tree.
They made room for new buds
Provided cover for the soil and
Food for those below.
Lots of work to get ready
For Spring next year and to
Just get through Fall and Winter.
Then came November.
November brought
What October teased.
October warned us,
Rushed at us,
Then seemed to pull back
Like a gentle rolling surf.
On a rough November day
A wave rushed over our heads
Knocked us down and threatened
To pull us far out to sea.
As we floated
We saw the shore disappear.
No one will come to help.
They won't even know we're gone.
'I've got to get to December! '
We scream.
'New Year's Day! Easter!
May Day! MAY DAY! '
And we will
Even if we have no idea
Why or how
poem by Tom J. Mariani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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