Of loss or profit, life or death, as frenzy swims.
No peace enjoyed; no dignity remains in hand;
No vigour to attempt a flight to heaven’s strand.
Asleep is he who’s slave to every sordid wish;
Who begs of fancy; parleys with it, even. Pish!
A demon in his sleep he sees; an angel deems.[93]
Through lust he swoons with sensual pleasure as he dreams.95
His seed he sows in sandy, salt, and desert land;
And wakes to find no harvest’s ripened to his hand.
A headache, with a beating heart, is all he feels;