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When to my sight and sightless mind, of this
Display "the pen of waterman," which is
As door to Dore in much splendored-kiss,
Away from windows, hiding pairs of eyes,
Of old design that praises old desires,
Or disapproves them--agonies I have
When they within me blaze my lust that mires--
Denied the aliment of soul--to starve
Made like creatures slave to the shorter straw,
Made to pass on, but yet it must compete--
Hateful of this, to see it as a law--
Striking the anvil--hammer on the heart:
Not finished yet--this testament of will
To forge a living heat, writ in a quill.