Desire

The Vampire by Sir Philip Burne-Jones (1897)

'Tis not a simple flight of fancy

That leads me to your door,

Nor terrors found in darkened thoughts,

That make me come once more,

But hunger plain and simple

An endless thirst for blood

And yours I crave, yet never taste

For fear I’ll start a flood

A flood of tears I’ll never dry

Should you lay cold and dead

And so I come, but never take

Except to share your bed.