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