If I could become a dream of golden feathers;
A dream, embraced and kissed by the heaven above,
I would have come with a divine bliss in my spirit
To the hermitage, where you lie, spread eagle.
Every night into your boudoir, on the coach of eiderdown,
Ornate with the choicest flowers of the earth,
And anoint you with celestial fragrance,
Borrowed from the angels of the yonder,
And assuage the coveted longings in you heart….
If I could become the eternal thirst of your soul;
The passions in your reticent imaginations,
I would have poured, the amorous aphrodisiac
Of my soul, in its delirium, on your tenderness,
Capering and prancing before you, every night.
My bard, if I could be a melody, a strain in your lute,
A rhythm, elicited while fondled by your tender fingers,
I would have asked you, flower bedecked nights for me,
When our imaginations and passions might mingle
And merge in unison, become fruitful, and fulfilled
Through the songs, I will ever sing for you…