And looks so glum, this artless youth
fasting, yet in vivid reverie rapt of food,
in thought, presumes her peerless lips,
yet betrays their pitiless passion sport.
who favors living with fevering thoughts?
How insolent is that secreted pleasure,
in daydream, often tenderly she strips—
like autumnal leaf, the dusky dress fall,
enchased with stars of amethyst hue.
Unveiled, standing her milky vernal form,
aureole-wreathed of lucent winter snow,
imbuing, with a scent sweet, in amber tone,
through limbs transfused, the firmness it brings.
When a lecherous gaze in your core struck;
thirsty you were, imagining a flume,
of rose-water drool stifling-fuses
into the molten-coulee of your thoughts.
From the crest guzzling wild, you unruly!
Sweat drenched, you lay at rest, concluding,
yet still this intern soul incarcerating;
torrid within such disobedient body?!
Of deep oneiric lust some thorn-myrrh grew
at night of the feminine bestowed, a radiant dot
and festooning, rest on this rathe-ripe ark,
as a radiance of your incandescent words.
How into ascetic did you so oddly grew,
when of leavened soil you’re formed,
redolent sheath, flaring in lustful dew?