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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.

- Ulalume, Edgar Allan Poe


While I gazed, this fissure rapidly widened—there came
a fierce breath of the whirlwind—the entire orb of the
satellite burst at once upon my sight—my brain reeled
as I saw the mighty walls rushing asunder—there was a
long tumultuous shouting sound like the voice of a
thousand waters—and the deep and dank tarn at my
feet closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of
the “House of Usher.”

- The Fall of the House of Usher, Edgar Allan Poe

 

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Last Updated on Sunday, 06 November 2011 23:11
 
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