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Updated: June 4, 2025
"If you were to continue my victim from year to year, the energies of life would slowly waste away, and, till like some faint taper's gleam, consuming more sustenance than it received, the veriest accident would extinguish your existence, and then, Flora Bannerworth, you might become a vampyre." "Oh! horrible! most horrible!"
I do not believe this theory myself for the jejune love of youth is as a taper's flame to the great and passionate tenderness of maturity, when the soul, and not the body, claims its due; when love is not dragged down to the vulgar level of mere cohabitation, after the fashion of the animals in a farmyard, but rises to the best height of human sympathy and intelligent comprehension. Who knows!
"Ah, lady! if that taper's blaze Requires a screen to blunt its rays, What screen, not form'd by art divine, Shall shield us from those orbs of thine? "But oh! let nothing intervene Our hearts and those bright suns between; 'Tis bliss, like the bewilder'd fly To flutter round, though sure to die."
A single taper's feeble flare Makes darker by its lonely light The cold and empty farmsteads square That blackly loom to left and tight; And she who sews, by that dim flame, The patient quilt spread on her knees, Hears from her heirloom quilting-frame The frolic of forgotten bees.
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