There dimly lurked a look that once I knew.
Her face was bloodless, as of one that’s dead,
But oh! her little mouth, how rosy red,
Beset with glittering little fangs that bled,
Fresh from the cruel feast whereon they fed.
Cold was her bosom, and her clammy arms—
No ruddy current warmed those shapely charms.
The air grew stifling, and upon my ear
Fell strident whispers chilling me with fear.
“Dost thou not know my face? in my close kiss