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- Deck The Halls 歌词 Quintino & Blasterjaxx
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- 歌手介绍
- Quintino & Blasterjaxx Deck The Halls 歌词
- Quintino & Blasterjaxx
- At midnight in the month of June
I stand beneath the mystic moon An opiate vapor dewy dim Exhales from out her golden rim And softly dripping drop by drop Upon the quiet mountain top Steals drowsily and musically Into the universal valley The rosemary nods upon the grave The lily lolls upon the wave Wrapping the fog about its breast The ruin molders into rest Looking like Lethe see! the lake A conscious slumber seems to take And would not for the world awake And would not for the world awake All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! where lies the skace men dou ben till the sky Irene with her Destinies! O lady bright! can it be right- This window open to the night The wanton airs from the tree-top Laughingly through the lattice drop- The bodiless airs a wizard rout Flit through thy chamber in and out And wave the curtain canopy So fitfully- so cearfully- Above the closed and fringed lid ''Neath which thy slumb′′ring soul lies hid That o′′er the floor and down the wall Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall! Oh lady dear hast thou no fear Why and what art thou dreaming here Sure thou art come O′′er far-off seas A wonder to these garden trees! Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress Strange above all thy length of tress And this all this And this all solemn silentness! My lover sleeps! Oh may her sleep Which is enduring so be deep! Heaven have her in its sacred keep! This chamber changed for one more holy This bed for one more melancholy I pray to God that he may lie For ever with unopened eye While the pale sheeted ghosts go by! My love she sleeps! Oh may her sleep As it is lasting so be deep! Soft may the worms about her creep! May the worms about her creep! My love she sleeps! Oh may her sleep As it is lasting so be deep! Soft may the worms about her creep! May the worms about her creep! Far in the forest dim and old For her may some tall vault unfold- Some vault that of the flung its black And winged panels fluttering back Triumphant o′′er the crested palls Of her grand family funerals- Some sepulchre remote alone Against whose portal she hath thrown In childhood many an idle stone- Some tomb from out whose sounding door She never shall force an echo more Thrilling to think poor child of sin! It was the dead who groaned within
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