O pinings for the flesh of man that often

Did her secret hours soften

And take her willing and unwilling hand

Where pleasure starteth up.

Come forth, ye moted gnomes, unruly band,

That come so quick ye spill your brimming cup;

Ye that make youth young and flesh nice

And the glad spring and summer sun arise;

Ye by whose secret presence the trees grow

Green, and the flowers bud, and birds sing free,

When with the fury of a trembling glow

The bull climbs on the heifer mightily!

VI

Sing at her window, ye heard early wings

In whose song joy's self sings!

Buzz in her room along her loss of sleep,

O small flies, tumble and creep

Along the counterpane and on her fingers

In mating pairs. She lingers.

Along her joined-felt legs a prophecy

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