It is tempting only to recall

            The great arches of the cathedral,

            The single scout breathless with

            Stratagem 

            In the tall swaying grasses

            Bent by his escape,

            A vast morning plain before the cry is raised

            Rather than

            The sure slow steps

            Across my willing back,

            Their solid graceful warmth,

            And then your curling toes against my cheek

            Before you sprang away 

            The phantom ecstasy

            That keeps me on my knee