To thirst and find no fill—to wail and wander <br />With short unsteady steps—to pause and ponder-- <br />To feel the blood run through the veins and tingle <br />Where busy thought and blind sensation mingle; <br />To nurse the image of unfelt caresses <br />Till dim imagination just possesses <br />The half-created shadow, then all the night <br />Sick...<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fragment-igniculus-desiderii/
