Lord Lytton - The Vampiress

Lyrics

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?