Sometimes before I sleep, a Human Dream holds my mind on his hand and with his soft brush he paints,
From the lightest purple until the astounding wine-colored, a splendid voyage;
I close my eyes to feel the shiver sliding all over my skin in equal waves;
Letting lose myself in all of a sudden along with his verdant creativity,
Keeping my head high streaming in a smooth sky,
Jigging, from thought to thought,
Roaming through fine feelings toward thrilling sensations,
Becoming a prayer,
A fierce candle,
An ever returning echo,
A constant sacrifice,
To plead this Artist properly,
To sketch me bars and detain me forever inside his image;
I awake as the sun raises up to good-morning the mourning noises of Earth and an anxious Demon veils my brain as I start another day…
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I would like to translate this poem