The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Dedicated to my friend Gee and in memory of Briley!



How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner

As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier,

As enanguished he turns from the laugh of the scorner,

And drops to perfection's remembrance a tear;

When floods of despair down his pale cheeks are streaming,

When no blissful hope on his bosom is beaming,

Or, if lulled for a while, soon he starts from his dreaming,

And finds torn the soft ties to affection so dear.

Ah, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave,

Or summer succeed to the winter of death?

Rest awhle, hapless victim! and Heaven will save

The spirit that hath faded away with the breath.

Eternity points, in its amaranth bower

Where no clouds of fate o'er the sweet prospect lour,

Unspeakable pleasure, of goodness the dower,

When woe fades away like the mist of the heath.

A Consoling Poem About Death: Death Is Nothing At All



Death is nothing at all.

I have only slipped away to the next room.

I am I and you are you.

Whatever we were to each other,

That, we still are.



Call me by my old familiar name.

Speak to me in the easy way

which you always used.

Put no difference into your tone.

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.



Laugh as we always laughed

at the little jokes we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word

that it always was.

Let it be spoken without effect.

Without the trace of a shadow on it.



Life means all that it ever meant.

It is the same that it ever was.

There is absolute unbroken continuity.

Why should I be out of mind

because I am out of sight?



I am but waiting for you.

For an interval.

Somewhere. Very near.

Just around the corner.



All is well.



Henry Scott Holland ~ 1847-1918

Canon of St. Paul's Cathedral ~ London. UK