An asphodel (wiersz klasyka)

O dear sweet rosy

Unattainable desire

 ...How sad, no way

To change The mad

Cultivated asphodel, The

 Visible reality…

And skin’s appalling

 Petals - How inspired

To be so lying In The living

Room drunk naked

 And dreaming, In The absence

 Of electricity…

Over and over heating The low Root

 Of The asphodel,

Gray fate…

Rolling In generation

 on The flowery couch

As on a bank In Arden -

 My Orly rose tonight’ s The treat

 Of my own nudity.