Capitolo 33
Making to turn the small brushes in my varnish-cups,
Painting the rosebuds pink and pale, minute violets,
Delicious garlands of green leaves of ivy and ax.
On this leaf, a dream goes me dreamed last night
Of two soft-designate toads--I thought of them stones,
Until them they excited! And then a great black spider,--
Tarantula, perhaps a horrendous thing,--
It crossed the room in an awful jump.
Here,--as me I wind the stems among two leaves,--
It is as if, decreasing to ransom of atomy,
I cried the secret among two universes. . .
A the friend of my takings once hasheesh, and says
In the moment in which he falls asleep him it had a dream,--
Although with his/her eyes opened wide,--
It is felt or saw, or a part was known
Of tangled models that slowly-garland marvelous,
You plane on airplane, depth to I wind him depth,
Amazing leaves, folding up one on another,
Grasses of Voluted, torsions and curves and spirals--
All of him that they stir darkly. . . as for me,
I need any hasheeshes for him--is too effortless!
Soon as I closed me the eyes I put out walking
In a monstrous jungle of roseleaves pale and monstrous pink color,
Violets redden as died, while dripping with water,
And ivy-leaves great as the clouds above of me.
Here, in a simple model of separate violets--
With edges of gilded scalloped--here you have me
Thinking about anything other. My wife, you know,--
There is anything missing--the strength, or he/she wants, or passion,
I don't know what is--and so, sometimes,
When I am tired, or you/he/she have not slept three nights,
Or it is cloudy with pluvius low threat,,
I become uncomfortable--only as trees of poplar
Ruffling their leaves--and I start to think
Of poor Pauline, so many years ago,
And that delicious night. Where is it now?
I meant to write--but she has stirred, from this time,
And then, besides it is probable, that she reveals me he marries.
There is well, more--I am finding old and timid--
The years have bite my wish. I have lost my nerve!
I don't audaciously strike never as me I used--
But he/she sits here, while painting violets, and he/she remembers