document.write("My impoverished muse, alas! What have you for me this morning?<br />Your empty eyes are stocked with nocturnal visions,<br />In your cheek\\\'s cold and taciturn reflection,<br />I see insanity and horror forming.<br />The green succubus and the red urchin,<br />Have they poured you fear and love from their urns?<br />The nightmare of a mutinous fist that despotically turns,<br />Does it drown you at the bottom of a loch beyond searching?<br /><br />I wish that your breast exhaled the scent of sanity,<br />That your womb of thought was not a tomb more frequently<br />And that your Christian blood flowed around a buoy that was rhythmical,<br /><br />Like the numberless sounds of antique syllables,<br />Where reigns in turn the father of songs,<br />Phoebus, and the great Pan, the harvest sovereign.");