Denne siden er korrekturlest
Ulalume er Sangen om Sorgens evige Monotoni, om Savnets Stirren paa det samme Punkt og Sindets ørkesløse Kredsen om den samme Tanke:
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.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
as the scoriac rivers that roll – – –
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 – – –
For mange vil disse sælsomme, sig selv ensformig gentagende Strofer have ringe Mening; de er ogsaa vage og indholdsløse og uvirkelige i Sammenligning med Tankedigte og andre udmærkede Ting; men den som ikke er istand til at nynne sig ind i et Digt som Ulalume, han er ikkedestomindre fremmed for et af Livets Strøg, og det er Poesiens. Ulalume er blot Musik, og Poe forstod i Virkeligheden blot at skrive for dem som har »Musik i sin Sjæl«.
