Luyện nghe bài hát The Sleeper

[by Edgar Poe]

At midnight, in the of June,
I stand the mystic moon.
An vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her rim,
And, dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet top,
drowsily and musically
Into the valley.
The nods upon the grave;
The lily upon the wave;
the fog about its breast,
The molders into rest;
Looking Lethe, see! the lake
A slumber seems to take,
And not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! where
Irene, her Destinies!
O, bright! can it be right-
This open to the night?
The airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly the lattice drop-
The bodiless airs, a rout,
Flit through thy in and out,
And the curtain canopy
So so fearfully-
Above the and fringed lid
'Neath which thy soul lies hid,
That, o'er the floor and the wall,
Like ghosts the rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming
Sure thou art come O'er seas,
A to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! thy dress,
Strange, all, thy length of tress,
And all solemn silentness!

The sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its keep!
This chamber for one more holy,
bed for one more melancholy,
I to God that she may lie
For ever with 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 some vault unfold-
Some vault oft has flung its black
And winged panels back,
Triumphant, o'er the palls,
Of her grand family
sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against portal she hath thrown,
In childhood, an idle stone-
Some tomb from out whose sounding
She ne'er shall force an more,
to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who within.