Fernando Pessoa

Contemporânea 9, março de 1923, p. 150.


From the moonlit brink of dreams

I stretch foiled hands to thee,

O borne down other streams

Than eye can think to see!

O crowned with spirit-beams!

O veiled spiritually!

My dreams and thoughts abate

Their pennons at thy feet,

O angel born too late

For fallen man to meet!

In what new sensual state

Could our twined lives feel sweet?

What new emotion must

I dream, to think thee mine?

What purity of lust?

O tendrilled as a vine

Around my caressed trust!

O dream-pressed spirit-Wine!