[poem by raymond, music by theatre of tragedy & pal bjastad]
time is an abyss -
profound as a thousand nights;
i sojourn my haste, i make respites
for what availeith this eager pace?
one step more naught to face,
save the heirloom fatal kiss.
i rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
for lo! my own shall ne'er come to me,
yet! - who doth my future narrate?
dim the lights - i cannot see!
bring forth ye shadow! -
with whom danceth thou?
time hath stopp'd -
yet for others ne'er halteth;
for me the pages of life do not turn,
lo! - on the funeral pyre they burn.
the oh so eathing velvet darkness they fear -
heed! - wherefore delve a burrow,
when in my arms "o! come here"? -
i say, elsewhither is naught but sorrow!
for what deemest thou so dear thy blood
when through my veins it could flood? -
bide to merry - make me unaptly;
and hence grant me the fell gift,
the gift of passing on the dark trick.
'tis such a brazen act of erotic;
trifle for thee, yet for me grandly thrift,
o! such an innocence depriv'd so hastily -
alas, for what deemest thou so dear thy blood
when through my veins it will flood? |