PATHETIC CRY

What a pitiful folly, the enriching fad of youth! As a student I clung to the inexhaustible Parnassus towers of knowledge, By the budding and forgiving May suns of May: to be there, with the burgeoning responsibility of mature youth, in the shelters of the bench-rows, of the slyly murdering cathedrals, where heated lovers taste the forbidden and considered emotions between them, where the shadow that longs to haunt hides under the bench, and the smouldering gaze welcomes the favours of the dumbfounded 

And how good would it be if the crowns of the grounded trees were just then dropping their golden fruit! And long-buried in the tables of my fair beloved's buried plum-dark fists, Spoon and bread would live, trusting, and the rushing time would be stopped by love-fulfillment flirting with all!

- The hair of brown-straw-flame would be crowned with the proud one-eyed knife-ray! Hair! And now the years, flying on, Suddenly speed from us like swift beasts, My back gradually grows more curved: Screeching question-mark on every side, I look from the shores of Atlantis to the dusky sea- An antique skirt-chaser, a real charmer, how he would besiege, longing to conquer, The fertile secrets of woman's body of golden sands! 

When could I have asked her swan-hand of caracan and spine? The gods save for man only the grim fatality!