sensuality washes over me
in a sudden whim of remorse
derived from a pure psychic dimension.
first uptight, I ease out
then submit and succumb
to this wasting away of pretensions.
in the end all the verve
that’s ever rattled this earth
is reduced to a single sensation.
and i’m staggered to find
that it’s only my birth.

       He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,


Enwrought with the golden and silver light,


The blue and the dim and the dark cloths


Of night and light and half-light,


I would spread the cloths under your feet


But I, being poor, have only my dreams;


I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;


Tread softly because you tread on my dreams...



-William Butler Yeats