Like a swimmer driven by a whirlpool of distress, Without a  morsel of hope, lampooned by regret,

In a storm of my own making; beseiged by clouds; 

I hide. Adamantly anchored to a despair, twenty fathoms wide

I'm riven by the whirlwind of my observable distress;

Starving and  alone, my anchor is the live-long day and yet, and yet, I fade away. 

Dressed in a black haze: dappled sunlight sways; There really is an abyss in the darkness before me; All around these terrible cliffs.

Mountains of the mind have sides:sheer, steep, sublime.

I grumble like a peasant over a scanty meal Discouraged, I am  invisible,

Providence provides the hand that feeds me: 

In the tunnels, the cliff edge, whilst crossing deep water.

The roaring shafts of sunlight disturb not my sleep. Again, I dress like  a madman, this refrain is deep

 in the abyss of darkness, I sleep, in a paradise  of sorts...the angels of heaven surround me:

My saviour is  my peacock angel delight and my unacknowledged thought.