Eyes, lakes withal my simple drunkenness to be reborn Other than actor evoking with gesture As though of a quill the shameful soot of the lamps, I bored a window through the curtain wall. Swimming to my hand and foot sheer traitor, In numberless bounds, reneging the bad Hamlet! it's as though in the waves I improvised A thousand tombs in which to vanish virginal. Jubilant gold of cymbal irked to fists, The sun at a fell blow smites the nudity Breathed forth pure from my nacreous freshness, Foul night of the skin though you passed upon me, As if not knowing, ingrate! that it was my sole anointment, This grease paint drowned in the glacial water of perfidy. |