Luyện nghe bài hát The Sleeper

[by Allan Poe]

At midnight, in the of June,
I stand beneath the moon.
An vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, by drop,
the quiet mountain top,
Steals and musically
the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the
The lolls upon the wave;
the fog about its breast,
The ruin molders rest;
Looking Lethe, see! the lake
A slumber seems to take,
And not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! lies
Irene, her Destinies!
O, lady bright! can it be
window open to the night?
The airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly the lattice drop-
The bodiless airs, a rout,
Flit thy chamber in and out,
And the curtain canopy
So fitfully- so
Above the closed and lid
'Neath thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,
That, o'er the and down the wall,
ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast no fear?
Why and what art dreaming here?
thou art come O'er far-off seas,
A to these garden trees!
is thy pallor! strange thy dress,
Strange, above all, thy of tress,
And this all silentness!

The sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven her in its sacred keep!
chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one melancholy,
I to God that she may lie
For ever unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted go by!

My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her
As it is lasting, so be deep!
may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may tall vault unfold-
Some vault that oft has its black
And winged fluttering back,
Triumphant, o'er the palls,
Of her family funerals-
sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against portal she hath thrown,
In childhood, many an stone-
Some tomb from out sounding door
She ne'er force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor of sin!
It was the dead who within.