Izabella's Blue

The Vampyre

But first, on earth as Vampire sent,
Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:
Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
And suck the blood of all thy race:
There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life;
Yet loathe the banquet
By which perforce
Must feed thy livid living corse:
Thy victims, ere they yet expire,
Shall know the demon for their sire,
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Thy flowers are wither'd on the stem...
Wet with thine own best blood shall drip
Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip;
Then stalking to thy sullen grave,
Go--and with Gouls and Afrits rave;
Till these in horror shrink away
From spectre more accursed than they!

~Lord Byron

Thou, who dost dwell alone;
Thou, who dost know thine own;
Thou, to whom all are known,
From the cradle to the grave,--

From the world's temptations;
From tribulations;
From that fierce anguish
Wherein we languish;
From that torpor deep
Wherein we lie asleep,
Heavy as death, cold as the grave...

~Mattew Arnold

“All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.”

~Havelock Ellis

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangle spray,
All heart-broke, I heard her say..

~william blake

You can shed tears that she is gone
or you can smile because she has lived
You can close your eyes and pray that she’ll come back
Or you can open your eyes and see all she’s left
Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her
or you can ...

be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember her and only that she’s gone
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on
You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back
or you can do what she’d want:
smile,
open your eyes,
love
and go on.

See More

♥ what if the storm ends ♥ http://youtu.be/nnEyGS3Hf9A

Absence

IN THIS fair stranger’s eyes of grey
Thine eyes, my love, I see.
I shudder: for the passing day
Had borne me far from thee.

This is the curse of life: that not
A nobler calmer train
Of wiser thoughts and feelings blot
Our passions from our brain;

But each day brings its petty dust
Our soon-chok’d souls to fill,
And we forget because we must,
And not because we will.

I struggle towards the light; and ye,
Once-long’d-for storms of love!
If with the light ye cannot be,
I bear that ye remove.

I struggle towards the light; but oh,
While yet the night is chill,
Upon Time’s barren, stormy flow,
Stay with me, Marguerite, still!

~Matthew Arnold