Sweet death as like sleep, when it calls for a journey on its elated wings of oblivion;an oft and quiet,an escape from these worlds;that convey a harmless comfort with its concord dreams aloft.
If it gleams,the wakeful spirit, which the purest in mine own fill of ecstasy, daring to swell tho' be the waning night,whose fading,blast find anew a song the very latest from my quill.
A Dusky bee as I spare lonely sites,solely across nature's dim given strife,I, a mused traveler that my life hails,from a warm curious, and mirthful form,yon world I gazed in all my vigils.
Oft When Somber shadows veil the human laughter,and lowly made depression its doom above us sink,from agonal mind with grief that drive's and batter mark'd by the sails of lonely hours that steep to think.
Oft times I write with my own blood in pain,a quick release of freedom to express well,the woes of past and present by views train;while my fancies unbar from my soul’s hall.
If you are happily married for what you have highly devoured from your beloved wife,is however legal,the world clasps respectfully, without any means to disapprove,though jealous and you too had given your wife an Heavenly drink,many a time with her mind's consent in order to fill what 'Eternal Sexual Divinity' is all about.