Unsommeiled in woolen cover
lay I before unto great images of rest I seek
Huddled yet closer to childhood bear
that hath guide me in past to great lengths and distances
Share I this before now, with great wary, unto mine mates of sheet
Now, oh God, now hath no past meaning with mine fears
Manifest thusly, in present, to mask of tears

But twain a clock turn, nay not yet twain,
hath you, mine shrouded seraph, graced me this night
Oh, evil contempt and foul misery hath I for forces unconscious,
with thine great roads that hath been stretched for acres
Would that, were this but a stone throw leading from most stressful harms,
I would then traipse such chuckled path,
and lead me, with visioned rain, into thine arms

As the clock hath made its turn, and I yet lay with ill spleen,
the scent of thine peau pervades my lobes with wishes to stroke
I hath a kindled lust for thine mane to, thus, cradle my sleep
and foreseen Damnation hath not the will to quench thine visage from my model
Sparks of thy wisdom hath guided me through my studies
and thy unseen eyes hast the clutch of my dawning grin
which, though it may grip my mind, I now don as my skin

Thine words of undepending devote, though still in lettered form,
weigh goodly on mine soul and pass the walls of alerting action
Would that it were your own that I caress in nightly sighs
and swords, with hilts of velvet, to parry, while entwined in mutual grasp
This, the grain in sack of sand, I do endear, still thusly, once endured in peace of dove
but, transcends all as this, I pledge fully always enduring and unconditionally sharing, my love