11.01.2014, 13:45
This Haschish dream, this cup-rose heavy-leaning
With opiums weight, this drunkenness of soul,
Bizarre, grotesque, satiric, with strange scroll
Of flaunting fancy's wildest foliage screening
No plashy depths of philosophic meaning,
Scoffing, believing, laughing at life's dole,
From heart that bleeds the while to death's dear goal,
Take, friend—my own, from no mans field a gleaning.
For I have made myself a clean new mould
To pour my fancies in, of mad burlesque,
Yet full of death withal as charnel air.
I first of men have carved in fancy's gold
So queer a pagod freaked in fancy's gold,
Though treading Wagner's ground twixt Goethe and Baudelaire.
With opiums weight, this drunkenness of soul,
Bizarre, grotesque, satiric, with strange scroll
Of flaunting fancy's wildest foliage screening
No plashy depths of philosophic meaning,
Scoffing, believing, laughing at life's dole,
From heart that bleeds the while to death's dear goal,
Take, friend—my own, from no mans field a gleaning.
For I have made myself a clean new mould
To pour my fancies in, of mad burlesque,
Yet full of death withal as charnel air.
I first of men have carved in fancy's gold
So queer a pagod freaked in fancy's gold,
Though treading Wagner's ground twixt Goethe and Baudelaire.