ULALUME.

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 and 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 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:

Ah, hasten! -ah, let us not linger!

Ah, 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 splendour is beaming

With Hope and in Beauty tonight! -

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 hath 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."

Era o céu de um cinzento funerário

e a folhagem, fanada, morria,

a folhagem, crispada, morria;

era noite, no outubro solitário

de ano que já me não lembraria;

ficava ali bem perto o lago de Auber,

na região enevoada de Weir;

bem perto, o pantanal úmido de Auber,

na floresta assombrada de Weir.

.

Lá, uma vez, por um renque titânico

de ciprestes, vagueei, em desconsolo.

Era então o meu peito vulcânico

qual torrente de lava que no solo

salta, vinda dos cumes de Yaanek,

nas mais longínquas regiões do pólo,

que ululando se atira do Yaanek

nos panoramas árticos do pólo.

Tristonha e gravemente conversamos,

mas a idéia era lassa e vazia

e a memória traidora e vazia;

que o mês era de outubro não lembramos,

nem soubemos que noite fugia.

(Ai! A noite das noites fugia!)

Não recordamos a lagoa de Auber

(e já fôramos lá, certo dia);

não pensamos no charco úmido de Auber

nem no bosque assombrado de Weir.

Quando a noite ia já desmaiada

e as estrelas chamavam pela aurora,

pálidos astros apontando a aurora,

eis que surge, no extremo da estrada,

uma luz fluida, nebulosa; e fora

dela se ergue um crescente recurvo,

diadema de Astarté, que se alcandora.

“Menos fria que Diana é essa estrela”,

digo, “a girar num éter feito de ais.

Viu o pranto, que a mágoa revela,

nas faces em que há vermes imortais

e, por onde o Leão se constela,

vem mostrar o caminho aos céus, letais

caminhos para a paz dos céus letais;

a despeito do Leão, vem-nos ela

iluminar, com olhos triunfais;

das cavernas do Leão, vem-nos ela,

cheia de amor nos olhos triunfais.”

.

Mas diz Psique, tremendo de aflição:

“Dessa estrela, por Deus, desconfia!

Desse estranho palor desconfia!

É preciso fugir de luz tão fria!

Apressemo-nos! Voemos, então!”

E, perdidas de tanta agonia,

suas asas se inclinavam para o chão;

soluçava e, de tanta agonia,

as plumas rastejavam pelo chão,

tristemente roçando pelo chão.

“Isso”, falei, “é um sonho de criança!

Oh! sigamos a luz que facina,

mergulhemos na luz cristalina!

É um clarão de beleza e de esperança

o que vem dessa luz sibilina.

Olha-a: entre as sombras, como gira e dança!

Guie-nos, pois, essa estrela, que ilumina

nossa estrada, com toda a confiança;

que nos guie para onde se destina.

Nessa estrela tenhamos confiança,

pois nas sombras, assim, volteia e dança!”

Dou um beijo a Psique, que a conforta,

impedindo que o medo se avolume,

que a dúvida, a tristeza se avolume,

e da estrela seguimos o lume

a té que nos deteve uma porta

de tumba, e uma legenda nessa porta.

“Doce irmã”, perguntei, “dessa porta

que tragédia a legenda resume?”

“Ulalume!” - responde-me. “Ulalume!”

“Essa é a tumba perdida de Ulalume!”

E me vi de tristezas referto,

como a folhagem seca que morria,

a folhagem fanada que morria!

E exclamei: “Era outubro, decerto,

e era esta mesma, há um ano, a noite fria

em que vim, a chorar, aqui perto,

fardo horrível trazendo, aqui perto!

Nesta noite das noites, sombria,

que demônio me arrasta aqui tão perto?

Bem reconheço agora o lago de Auber,

na região enevoada de Weir;

bem vejo o pantanal úmido de Auber,

na floresta assombrada de Weir!”.

(Edgar Allan Poe) -

Assistam A interpretação de Jeff Buckley recitando-o. Boa noite.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgeaqpmqUT8