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I am beset by madness most profound, a fevered fancy that knoweth no bounds. My mind doth spin in wildest fancies, conjuring phantoms of men fair and dark, who linger not upon this earthly realm. They are naught but shadows, figments born of fervent dreaming and half-waking trance. With ardent heart I cling to their ghostly forms, each visage a muse for my unquenchable desires. Ever do I dwell upon their imagined words, their breath that toucheth not mine ear. Yea, I am consumed by this fevered fixation, bewitched by these specters who hold sway o'er my senses, leading me further into the fogged mists of delusion.