Classic Poem

FINDS IT FULL OF LUNAR POSSIBILITIES

It was midnight, the month was November;
The skies, they were cheerless and cold,
The forest was trembling and old;
And my heart it was grey, I remember,
As I walked through the hyaline wold.
The moon was a perishing ember,
The heavens were ashen and cold.
It was midnight, and so to restore me
To laughter and solace from pain,
I sang and the melody bore me
To Israfel's bosom again,
To the regions enchanted again;
I felt the dim Beauty flow o'er me,
The fever of living seemed vain,
And Death but a shadow of pain.
And I sang, though a wolf stood before me.
I sang of the terrors titanic,
Of ghouls and the breath of the tomb,
Of scoriac floods and volcanic,
Of Helen, Lenore, Ulalume,
Of devils from hell free,
Of bells in the belfry,
Of the banging and the clanging as they boom,
boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom,
I sang of these things, and in panic
The wolf disappeared in the gloom—
He left me alone in the gloom.
But Lalage's eyes I remember;
I shall dream of them till I grow old,
When Lenore and Ligeia are cold.
They are with me in June and September,
October, November, December,—
Though the skies may be barren and old,
And the forest is nothing but mold;
Though the moon is a perishing ember,
And the heavens are ashen and cold.