MY thoughts  undulate like not seas,
In depth sway lovely images at ease,
They come with shallow fancies without end,
And swing with shadows slowly increase,
Love crumbles under my lofty bed,
While foam of sin floats in my head,
Nakedness creeps up the wall without tongue,
And females ' ghosts –pretend to be young,
tapping and whispering at the door,
And in the mirror are installed even more,
And the smothered chimney breathes black hair,
While still in the stove dreamingly stare
At hot burning logs like legs,
And radiance of bright eyes lie down in fire,
Nothing can be more persistent than desire,
To tempt the soul to the world of sin,
But in my chamber reality does always win;
It seems I fancy ripe beauty in my misery,
To celebrate blossoms of haughty victory.