As to a Child by Fernando Pessoa — Read

As to a child, I talked my heart asleep

With empty promise of the coming day, / And it slept rather for my words made sleep / Than from a thought of what their sense did say.

For did it care for sense, would it not wake / And question closer to the morrow's pleasure?

Would it not edge nearer my words, to take / The promise in the meting of its measure?

So, if it slept, 'twas that it cared but for / The present sleepy use of promised joy, / Thanking the fruit but for the forecome flower / Which the less active senses best enjoy.

Thus with deceit do I detain the heart / Of which deceit's self knows itself a part.