Testo Obsession

You forests, like cathedrals, are my dread: You roar like organs. Our curst hearts, like cells Where death forever rattles on the bed, Echo your de Profundis as it swells My spirit hates you, Ocean! sees, and loathes Its tumults in your own. Of men defeated The bitter laugh, that's full of sobs and oaths, Is in your own tremendously repeated. How would you please me, Night! Without your stars Which speak a foreign dialect, that jars On one who seeks the void, the black, the bare. Yet even your darkest shade a canvas forms Whereon my eye must multiply in swarms Familiar looks of shapes no longer there.