|
Immortal Ode
Stretched beneath a virgin's bower Relishing the summer hour Lies the Lady Dellamorte Resting by her paramour
A mourning dove proclaims his glory From a lofty arbor story And Aether pure pervades this realm Of purple heath and restless elm
In a hamet far away The sounds of distant people play But here there is no noise as rude And happiness is solitude
The lovers draw eachother close Reclining as in sweet repose While Lady's lovely lily face turns sanguine with a warm embrace
But soft! The liege procures a blade Which ceremoniously is laid upon his lady's ivory neck And pressed to seal impending death
The crimson blood of life pours forth While gently he reomoves his sword, Impales himself without a howl And turns it in his dying bowels
Now all is silent, save the breeze Which dances round the rustling leaves And lilacs sigh at what has pasr For love's defied, yet death will last
|
|