The skies they were ashen and sober;
the leaves they were crispéd 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.
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| Nachtmeerfahrten |