Izabella's Blue

The irony of love

 

"Loving the right person at the wrong time, having the wrong person when the time is right, and finding out you love someone right after that person walks out of your life...

Sometimes, you think you're already over a person, But when you see them smile at you, you'll suddenly realize that you're just pretending to be over them just to ease the pain of knowing that they will never be yours again...

For some, they think that letting go is one way of expressing how much you love the person...

Some are afraid to see the one they love being held by someone else... Most relationships tend to fail not because the absence of love - love is always present. It's just that one was being loved too much and the other was being loved too little...

As we all know the heart is the center of the body but it beats on the left. Maybe that's the reason why the heart is not always right...

Most often, we fall in love with the person we think we love but to only discover that for them, we are just for past times, while the one who truly loves us remains either a friend or a stranger...

So here's a piece of advice: Let go when you're hurting too much. Give up when love isn't enough, and move on when things are not like before... For sure, there is someone out there who will love you even more..."

breath not a whisper

 

"breath not a whisper~ thou unhappy one, Whither so secret away?"

~W. de la Mare

The bell struck one and shook the silent tower

 

The bell struck one, and shook the silent tower;
The graves give up their dead: fair Elenor
Walk'd by the castle gate, and lookèd in.
A hollow groan ran thro' the dreary vaults.
She shriek'd aloud, and sunk upon the steps,
On the cold stone her pale cheeks. Sickly smells
Of death issue as from a sepulchre,
And all is silent but the sighing vaults.

Chill Death withdraws his hand, and she revives;
Amaz'd, she finds herself upon her feet,
And, like a ghost, thro' narrow passages
Walking, feeling the cold walls with her hands.

Fancy returns, and now she thinks of bones
And grinning skulls, and corruptible death
Wrapp'd in his shroud; and now fancies she hears
Deep sighs, and sees pale sickly ghosts gliding.

At length, no fancy but reality
Distracts her. A rushing sound, and the feet
Of one that fled, approaches--Ellen stood
Like a dumb statue, froze to stone with fear.

The wretch approaches, crying: `The deed is done;
Take this, and send it by whom thou wilt send;
It is my life--send it to Elenor:--
He's dead, and howling after me for blood!

`Take this,' he cried; and thrust into her arms
A wet napkin, wrapp'd about; then rush'd
Past, howling: she receiv'd into her arms
Pale death, and follow'd on the wings of fear.

They pass'd swift thro' the outer gate; the wretch,
Howling, leap'd o'er the wall into the moat,
Stifling in mud. Fair Ellen pass'd the bridge,
And heard a gloomy voice cry `Is it done?'

As the deer wounded, Ellen flew over
The pathless plain; as the arrows that fly
By night, destruction flies, and strikes in darkness.
She fled from fear, till at her house arriv'd.

Her maids await her; on her bed she falls,
That bed of joy, where erst her lord hath press'd:
`Ah, woman's fear!' she cried; `ah, cursèd duke!
Ah, my dear lord! ah, wretched Elenor!

`My lord was like a flower upon the brows
Of lusty May! Ah, life as frail as flower!
O ghastly death! withdraw thy cruel hand,
Seek'st thou that flow'r to deck thy horrid temples?

`My lord was like a star in highest heav'n
Drawn down to earth by spells and wickedness;
My lord was like the opening eyes of day
When western winds creep softly o'er the flowers;

`But he is darken'd; like the summer's noon
Clouded; fall'n like the stately tree, cut down;
The breath of heaven dwelt among his leaves.
O Elenor, weak woman, fill'd with woe!'

Thus having spoke, she raisèd up her head,
And saw the bloody napkin by her side,
Which in her arms she brought; and now, tenfold
More terrifièd, saw it unfold itself.

Her eyes were fix'd; the bloody cloth unfolds,
Disclosing to her sight the murder'd head
Of her dear lord, all ghastly pale, clotted
With gory blood; it groan'd, and thus it spake:

`O Elenor, I am thy husband's head,
Who, sleeping on the stones of yonder tower,
Was 'reft of life by the accursèd duke!
A hirèd villain turn'd my sleep to death!

`O Elenor, beware the cursèd duke;
O give not him thy hand, now I am dead;
He seeks thy love; who, coward, in the night,
Hirèd a villain to bereave my life.'

She sat with dead cold limbs, stiffen'd to stone;
She took the gory head up in her arms;
She kiss'd the pale lips; she had no tears to shed;
She hugg'd it to her breast, and groan'd her last.

~William Blake

the vampyre

 

The Vampyre

Near the cliff's sharp edge, on high

Standing out against the sky,

Dost thou see a ruined cross

Weatherstained, o'ergrown by moss,

Gloomy, desolate, forsaken,

By unnumbered tempests shaken?

Not a blade of grass grows nigh it,

Not a peasant lingers by it.

E'en the sombre bird of night

Shuns it in her darksome flight,

Startled by the piteous groan

That arises from the stone.

All around, on starless nights,

Myriad hosts of livid lights

Flicker fretfully, revealing

At its foot a phantom, kneeling

Whilst it jabbers dismal plaints,

Cursing God and all the saints.

Tardy traveller, beware

Of that spectre gibbering there;

Close your eyes, and urge your steed

To the utmost of his speed;--

For beneath that cross, I ween,

Lies a Vampyre's corpse, obscene! 
~

Though the night is black and cold

Love's fond story, often told,

Floats in whispers through the air.

Stalwart youth and maiden fair

Seal sweet vows of ardent passion

With their lips, in lovers' fashion. 
Restless, pale, a shape I see

Hov'ring nigh; what may it be?

'Tis a charger, white as snow,

Pacing slowly to and fro

Like a sentry. As he turns

Haughtily the sward he spurns.

'Leave me not, beloved, tonight!

Stay with me till morning's light!'

Weeping, thus besought the maid;

'Love, my soul is sore afraid!

Brave not the dread Vampyre's power,

Mightiest at this mystic hour!'

Not a word he spake, but prest

The sobbing maiden to his breast;

Kissed her lips and cheeks and eyes

Heedless of her tears and sighs;

Waved his hand, with gesture gay,

Mounted--smiled--and rode away.

~

Who rides across the dusky plain

Tearing along with might and main

Like some wild storm-fiend, in his flight

Nursed on the ebony breast of Night?

'Tis he, who left her in her need--

Her lover, on his milk-white steed!

The blast in all its savage force

Strives to o'erthrow the gallant horse

That snorts defiance to his foe

And struggles onward. See! below

The causeway, 'long the river-side

A thousand flutt'ring flamelets glide!

Now they approach, and now recede,

Still followed by the panting steed;

He nears the ruined cross! A crash,

A piteous cry, a heavy splash,

And in the rocky river-bed

Rider and horse lie crushed and dead.

Then from those dismal depths arise

Blaspheming yells and strident cries

Re-echoing through the murky air.

And, like a serpent from its lair,

Brandishing high a blood-stained glaive

The Vampyre rises from his grave!

~Vasile Alecsandri

les vampires

 

Les Vampires 1915

Of the moonless nights they are kings,

darkness is their kingdom.

Carrying death and sowing terror...

the dark Vampires fly,

with great suede wings,

ready not only to do evil...

but to do even worse

the stranger

 

In the woods as I did walk,
Dappled with the moon's beam,
I did with a Stranger talk,
And his name was Dream.

Spurred his heel, dark his cloak,
Shady-wide his bonnet's brim;
His horse beneath a silvery oak
Grazed as I talked with him.

Softly his breast-brooch burned and shone;
Hill and deep were in his eyes;
One of his hands held mine, and one
The fruit that makes men wise.

Wondrously strange was earth to see,
Flowers white as milk did gleam;
Spread to Heaven the Assyrian Tree,
Over my head with Dream.

Dews were still betwixt us twain;
Stars a trembling beauty shed;
Yet--not a whisper comes again
Of the words he said.

~Walter De La Mare