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 ' '