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IN the blue jersey which her bosom's wealth
Stretches, a queen of majesty she seems,
Rich, royal fruit of love my morbid dreams
Compress to suck the acid juice of health;


And like a lake of flesh she lies up-curled
Upon her bed, that flowering linen shore
Her milky heaviness billow o'er,
By lust's hot breezes swollen and unfurled!


And when she passes with soft, rhythmic pace,
Cradling her fluctuating charms, my face
Is reddened by a stinging shame intense,


And I am full of a corroding thrill,
And tortured by a sanguine prurience
Which drowns my delicate, anæmic will.