A picture of you forms the future
That echoes in my chamberpot
My dreams of bliss are far too strong
To from verse cancel blot.

Thought of you fills my nights, and lights
Desires which trample my vestments.
Should I deny thine wish, that nights
I could inhabit testaments?

You give vision to adventure, and incline
The reasons for desire.
How can words ever feelings rust
When muse is dream, entire?

In you, I find all I now seek,
A flagon of draughty ale;
True beauty, and sweet eyes that speak
And lips that oft glow pale.

All you might ask of me, I'd give
With joy, like a fulsome mensch:
In truth, I find reason to live,
For the touch of yon blithesome wench.

I hold you in my dreams, and feel
The rising of lambent declination.
But I know that dreams are not real:
While my fortress exudes lamenations.

And now as the dross doth exceed
And surpass e'en dimensions of Ruth
On my nightstand the night owl he bleeds
For the passions that herald thy truth

No, yet, I must stay and endure
Not to wither in thy love's bright flame
While the ponds are beset and the cure
Of my rhapsody still is in vain

For tis true I'm no quiescent wretch
Whose fretting goes silent, unheard
No! Again, no, my poems attest
To the mighty desire of my word

Therefore listen, oh, listen, my muse!
And turn not from this heart in its need
If my visions be not to amuse
Then turn oft, give them thought, and them heed

Oh, yes, I am lost in thy love
And for this I could go on and on
On and on, on and on, past the dusk, past the dawn,
As complete as your hand in your glove

I rave, and I rant, and I roar
I whisper, I plead, and I crave
Do not spurn this poor heart that adores!
For tis thus I would end in my grave

There to moulder and slowly decay
Just a memory that flickers and fades
Just a vanishing song, midst the impatient throng
Where my muse my sad heart did waylay!