lirik lagu ghizela rowe - lord lytton - the vampiress
i found a corpse, with golden hair
of a woman seven months dead
but the face, with the death in it, still was fair
and the lips with their love were red
rose leaves on a snow~drift shed
blood~drops by adonis bled
doubtless were not so red
i combed her hair into curls of gold
and i kissed her lips till her lips were warm
and i bathed her body in moonlight cold
‘till she grew to a living form:
till she stood up bold to a magic of old
and walked to a muttered charm –
lifelike, without alarm
and she walks by mе, and she talks by me
evermorе, night and day;
for she loves me so, that, wherever i go
she follows me all the way –
this corpse – you would almost say
there pined a soul in the clay
her eyes are so bright at the dead of night
that they keep me wake with dread:
and my life~blood fails in my veins, and pales
at the sight of her lips so red:
for her face is as white as the pillow by night
where she kisses me on my bed:
all her gold hair outspread –
neither alive nor dead
i would that this woman’s head
were less golden about the hair:
i would her lips were less red
and her face less deadly fair
for this is the worst to bear –
how came that redness there?
‘tis my heart, be sure, she eats for her food;
and it makes one’s whole flesh creep
to think that she drinks and drains my blood
unawares, when i am asleep
how could those red lips
their redness so damson~deep?
there’s a thought like a serpent, slips
ever into my head, —
there are plenty of women, alive and human
one might woo, if one wished, and wed –
women with hearts, and brains, — ay – and lips
not so terribly red
but to house with a corpse – and she so fair
with that dim, unearthly, golden hair
and those sad, serene, blue eyes
with their looks from who knows where
with the grave’s own secret there –
it is more than i can bear!
it were better for me, ere i cam nigh her
this corpse – ere i looked upon her
had they burned my body in flame and fire
with a sorcerer’s dishonor
for when the devil hath made his lair
and lurks in the eyes of a fair young woman
(to grieve a man’s soul with her golden hair
and break his heart, if his heart be human)
would not a saint despair
to be saved by fast or prayer
from perdition made so fair?
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