Shapes of Clay

by Ambrose Bierce

THE NEW "ULALUME."

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 " "