V
O brooding vampire, why art thou arisen?
Why art thou so unquiet in the tomb?
Why has thy corpse burst brilliant out of prison?
Whence get the lips their blood, the cheeks their bloom?
Is there no garlic I may wear against thee?
No succor in the consecrated Host?
Nay, if thou slay not it is thou restrainst thee.
I am the virgin, thou the Holy Ghost.
There is no comfort nor defence nor peace
From thee (and all thy malice) in the world:
Thou sittest through the aching centuries
Like the old serpent in his horror curled
Ready to strike, strike home—and yet not striking
Till thou hast lipped the victim to thy liking!
Why art thou so unquiet in the tomb?
Why has thy corpse burst brilliant out of prison?
Whence get the lips their blood, the cheeks their bloom?
Is there no garlic I may wear against thee?
No succor in the consecrated Host?
Nay, if thou slay not it is thou restrainst thee.
I am the virgin, thou the Holy Ghost.
There is no comfort nor defence nor peace
From thee (and all thy malice) in the world:
Thou sittest through the aching centuries
Like the old serpent in his horror curled
Ready to strike, strike home—and yet not striking
Till thou hast lipped the victim to thy liking!
— 105 —
