[BNP/E3, 49A1 – 41]

29/5/07.

When in my sleepless nights grows {…} unrest

Bring in fever hight I do compose

Verses to thee and make[1] fear-stricken pose

From my cold lips to pleasure’s cold blest.

Thou thinkst not of me. But thy dreams the best

Thou giv’st to purity and to the †

That youth’s not drawn upon your fancy throw

Who makes upon me such a bad request.

 
[1] make /pour\