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It is tempting only to recall

The great arches of the cathedral,
The single scout breathless with
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