[BNP/E3, 31A – 7][1]
Spell
9
From the moonlit brink of dreams
I stretch foiled hands to thee,
O borne down other streams
Than eyes can think to see!
O crowned with spirit beams!
O veiled spiritually!
My dreams and thoughts abate
Their pennons at thy feet!
O angel born too late
For fallen man to meet!
In what new sensual state
Could our twined lives fell sweet?
What new emotion must
I dream to think thee mine?
What purity of lust?
O tendrilled as a vine
Around my caressed trust!
O dream‑pressed spirit‑wine!
[1] Poema riscado no original.
