Sympathy For The Vampire

 

1. Take a pinch of information and a LOT of ignorance and you will soon have a legend. It will only grow in the passing of the legend from one to another. People are like that.

   Posted by StinKerr       07/06/2005  at  02:29 PM  



2. Porphyria’s Lover

   The rain set early in tonight,
   The sullen wind was soon awake,
   It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
   And did its worst to vex the lake:
   I listened with heart fit to break.
   When glided in Porphyria; straight
   She shut the cold out and the storm,
   And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
   Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
   Which done, she rose, and from her form
   Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
   And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
   Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
   And, last, shhe sat down by my side
   And called me.  When no voice replied,
   She put my arm about her waist,
   And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
   And all her yellow hair displaced,
   And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
   And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair,
   Murmuring how she loved me - she
   Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavor,
   To set its struggling passion free
   From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
   And give herself to me forever.
   But passion sometimes would prevail,
   Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain
   A sudden thought of one so pale
   For love of her, and all in vain:
   So, she was come through wind and rain.
   Be sure I looked up at her eyes
   Happy and proud; at last I knew
   Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
   Made my heart swell, and still it grew
   While I debated what to do.
   That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
   Perfectly pure and good:  I found
   A thing to do, and all her hair
   In one long yellow string I wound
   Three times her little throat around,
   And strangled her.  No pain felt she;
   I am quite sure she felt no pain.
   As a shut bud that holds a bee,
   I warily oped her lids: again
   Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
   And I untightened next the tress
   About her neck; her cheek once more
   Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
   I propped her head up as before,
   Only, this time my shoulder bore
   Her head, which droops upon it still:
   The smiling rosy little head,
   So glad it has its utmost will,
   That all it scorned at once is fled,
   And I, its love, am gained instead!
   Porphyria’s love:  she guessed not how
   Her darling one wish would be heard.
   And thus we sit together now,
   And all night long we have not stirred,
   And yet God has not said a word!

   Robert Browning

   Posted by Phoenix       07/06/2005  at  06:12 PM  

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