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 Pysche, 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)— 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- 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 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, But Pysche, uplifting her finger, Said "Sadly this star I 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- I replied This is nothing but dreaming : Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendour 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- And I said- "What is written, sweet sister, |