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Away, away—there is danger here—
A terrible phantom is bending near;
Ghastly and sunken, his rayless eye
Scowls on thy loveliness scornfully—
With no human look—with no human breath,
He stands beside thee,—the haunter, Death!
Fly! but, alas! he will follow thee still,
Like a moonlight shadow, beyond thy will;
In thy noon-day walk—in thy midnight sleep,
Close at thy hovel that phantom will keep—
Still on thine ear shall his whispers be—
Wo, that such phantom should follow thee!
In the lighted hall where the dancers go,
Like beautiful spirits, to and fro;
When thy fair arms glance in their stainless white,
Like ivory bathed in still moonlight;
And not one star in the holy sky
Hath a clearer light than thine own blue eye!
Oh, then—even then—he will follow thee,
As the ripple follows the bark at sea;
In the softened light—in the turning dance—
He will fix on thine his dead, cold glance—
The chill of his breath on thy cheek shall linger,
And thy warm blood shrink from his icy finger!
And yet there is hope. Embrace it now,
While thy soul is open as thy brow;
While thy heart is fresh—while its feelings still
Gush clear as the unsoiled mountain rill—
