Still I kept my faith in the dream-criticism
for which I had
neglected all that
the daylit world first
offered: it took
no gift to foretell
that the order I
believed to exercise
power in secret must
accomplish nothing. I
let myself be consumed
while I slept to
dedicate a path to
the promiscuous ghost
which had inhabited
me for a season: it
remained the kindest
that might be drawn
from underground given
my well-known hatred
of attachment.