Something so pleasing to the eye,
Something that can not be touched,
Now stands in front of you and I
As if begging to be touched.
Spare it my love from abolition,
One caress to pieces will shred,
What is real or apparition,
Spirit's water and its bread.
It can only in its solitude,
From every want secluded,
Poison mind's fortitude
Or be for deep comfort suited.
Now that will is fully crushed,
Now that mind 's by freedom stolen,
You can see that which is brushed
And by another world is woven.
But sweetest pleasure that it brings
Always with it carries pain,
As it is with all best things,
Melancholy cleans the brain.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
Something so pleasing to the eye,
Something that can not be touched,
Now stands in front of you and I
As if begging to be touched.
Spare it my love from abolition,
One caress to pieces will shred,
What is real or apparition,
Spirit's water and its bread.
It can only in its solitude,
From every want secluded,
Poison mind's fortitude
Or be for deep comfort suited.
Now that will is fully crushed,
Now that mind 's by freedom stolen,
You can see that which is brushed
And by another world is woven.
But sweetest pleasure that it brings
Always with it carries pain,
As it is with all best things,
Melancholy cleans the brain.