The Ghost
The Ghost
With bestial angelic eyes
I shall return and make no noise,
And slip into your quiet room
And glide towards you in the gloom
My dusky love, I shall bestow
Moon-cold kisses on your brow,
With coiled caresses writhing round
Like snakes that haunt a burial ground.
Morning will not reveal my face,
You'll wake to find an empty place,
Though when night comes I shall be there.
Others endeavour to possess
Your life and youth through tenderness -
Not me: I choose to rule by fear.
Writer/s: Charles Baudelaire, Susanna Wallumrød
