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I DREAMED of a jungle flowered with burning scents,
Moist with the tufts of musk and creeper glooms,
Of a jungle of the Indies drunk with blooms,
Where the gold of fertile rottenness ferments.


I was a tiger in the lubric troops
Of tigresses whose spine was slowly fretted
With fits ... while in the grass where poisons sweated
Vibrated love in our electric croups.


The fire of moonlight nights our marrows warmed,
And in the dark around us stars that swarmed
Were lit to see us, phosphorescent eyes.


A distant storm prolonged its slow discharge,
And drops of tepid water, like tears large,
Voluptuously fell from great, black skies.


I dreamed an old world with a soul reproved,
For which My prophet's heart did tender feel.
My eyes forced Double down in the dust to kneel,
And heaven I fashioned when My hand I moved.


Towards My robe came running orphan Pities;
And when upon the road I chanced to meet
Hope in a beggar's rags, I washed her feet ...
And incense mildness fell on hills and cities.


Then was I put to death at the Tyrant's hest;
A torrent gushed forth from My bleeding breast,
To be to thirsty souls abundant boon;


To Me were evening hours of prayer devoted;
And in a nimbus of love My pale face floated
At women's sad heart like a mystic moon.


I dreamed a primitive garden, where souls tender
In white robes plucked gold clover from its bed;
Where azure breaths with warmth were velveted,
And cradled silver flowers like women slender.


On shores of waters shaded by high trees
Mystical lovers solitude were dreaming,
And ecstasy, and plenary joy were beaming,
And the lambs of God were grazing on the leas.


Love holy, without hate or fever-burn,
Drank at the lips' profound and exquisite urn ...
O dream-desire perfumed with Heaven's balms!


And I am there among the marjoram,
Virginal, and the bodiless angel am
Whose slender fingers play the candid psalms.