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Canst thou not see the scarlet tears
Staining my emaciated face?
My hands drip with th'angel's blood.
She - slain in seven ways -
Advanced her misled mind athwart
My path to yonder fields.
Do I repent th'atrocious horror?
Yet innocence is naught but sorrow.
The quill that carves my epitaph,
Still tells a tale of misery.
Pour thyself into me - melancholy.
...
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On an Insignificant
No doleful faces here, so sighing -
Here rots a thing that won by dying:
'Tis Cypher lies beneath this crust -
Whom Death created into dust.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Stately columns standing in solemn rows.
Such empty honours are suitable for those,
Whose death erases all renown and fame,
And vanquishes their glory with their name.
But not for those whose superior worth,
After death extols them to the earth.
I would even venture to assume,
That one need not build for them a tomb,
By human art, since glory heaven sent,
Serves them as a living monument.
... and I lust / Anathema
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Your bloodied body is what I cling to.
In powerful rain they laid down their heads to die.
Let your dark thirsty eyes drink deep the sights of me.
It's sad that in our blindness we gather thorns for flowers.
Your river holds a feast of danger.
The suffering you have had to bear.
I'd die for that moment one more time.
The loved one falls below your ideals.
Pleasure too safely enjoyed lack's zest.
The brave lick their sickening lips.
Rigid, handsome and a poet.
A king in his passionate castle.
Where now? Feed me! Hold me! Save me! Save yourself!
Where now? Which way? Dear god, show me! Take your own!
Struggle free! Arise! You're ruined! Stand down!
Your kin piled thick around you, save yourself!
Your river / My Dying Bride
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As I draw up my breath,
And silver fills my eyes,
I kiss her still,
For she will never rise.
On my weak body,
Lays her dying hand.
Through those meadows of heaven,
Where we ran.
Like a thief in the night,
The wind blows so light.
It wars with my tears,
That won't dry for many years.
"Love's golden arrow,
At her should have fled,
And not death's ebon dart,
To strike her dead."
For my fallen angel / My Dying Bride
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All tears restrained for years.
Their grief is confined.
Which destroy my mind.
An ode to their plight is this dirge.
Some yearn for lugubrious silence.
( It is the ) serenity in the image of the coffins.
Shall life renew these bodies of a truth?
All death will he annul, all tears assuage?
Fill the void veins of life again with youth,
And wash with an immortal water, age.
They die ...
They die ...
They die ...
Oh, they, they die ...
An ode to their plight is this dirge.
They ... they die ... die.
They ( will always ) die / Anathema
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With loving passion, oh your radiance.
A serenade I cry.
Your silk lined coffin, the lachrymatory,
To hold a mourner's tears. Behold.
Ethereal splendour.
Pale skin and downcast eyes.
Scent of paradise.
Like her, forever remains unknown.
Through tear stained eyes,
My view is growing weaker.
Please help my grief be vanquished.
Thy bed of roses, funereal drapery.
Impale me on your thorns. Oh no.
Celestial splendour.
Pale skin and downcast eyes.
Farewell autumn kisses.
Like her, forever remain unknown.
I loved her ... but now she's gone ... oh ... no.
Overcoming ... a tender reckoning.
If I too depart this earth,
In harmony to heaven we'll elope.
To our heaven we'll elope.
Heavenly grace with which to ease, ease the virgin tears.
Heavenly grace with which to ease the virgin tears.
Under a veil ( of black lace ) / Anathema
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Erwecke die Stimme ihres Herzens,
Laß es lodern darin wie Feuer,
Damit zerschmilzt, was sich verhärtet,
Und ihr Gemüt sich erhebe und spreche:
Das ist das Böse, das will ich;
Das ist das Gute, das will ich nicht !>
( Zarathustra )
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Hätt' ich den Vers, der rauh und heiser schölle,
So wie er paßte für dies finstre Nest,
Auf dem die Felsen ruhn der ganzen Hölle,
Den Saft des Themas hätt' ich ausgepreßt
Noch voller; doch entbehrend solchen Schalles,
Red' ich mit Zagen, das mich nicht verläßt.
Zu schildern jenen Grund des Weltenalles
Das ist kein Werk der leichten Tändelei
Und keine Sache kindlichen Gelalles.
Divina commedia, Dante Alighieri
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Mean while, ere thus was sin'd and judg'd on Earth,
Within the Gates of Hell sat Sin and Death,
In counterview within the Gates; that now
Stood open wide, belching outragious flame
Far into Chaos, since the Fiend pass'd through,
Sin opening; who thus now to Death began:
O Son, why sit we here each other viewing
Idly ? while Satan our great Author thrives
In other worlds, and happier Seat provides
For Us his Off-spring dear. It cannot be
But that Success attends him : if Mishap;
Ere this he had return'd, with fury driv'n
By his Avengers; since no place like this
Can fit His Punishment or Their revenge.
Methinks I feel new strength within me rise;
Wings growing, and Dominion giv'n me large
Beyond this deep. Whatever draws me on,
Or Sympathy; or some connatural force
Pow'rful at greatest distance to unite
With secret amity things of like kind
By secretest conveyance; thou my Shade
Inseparable must with Me along:
For Death from Sin no pow'r can separate.
Paradise Lost, John Milton
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