CLYTIE 
109 
 
Hold me !  he must not think I yearned—he is too master-
ful—beware !   
Oh, should he guess this body burned, shame, shame—how 
should a maiden fare ?   
 
Nay, girls, I know.  But Pan hath wrought this marvel on 
my wanton’s will, 
Filling it with one virgin thought, as strong as summer, 
and as still. 
 
Ah hold !  my body breaks away maugre your weakling 
struggles.  Hold !   
Nay !  my soul faints ;  the stinging spray lures like his 
kisses did of old. 
 
Free !  Now stand back !  How good it is—how good it is 
to be alive !   
How good to swim for the first kiss !  How good to dip 
oneself and dive !   
 
Gods !  Let him get me wholly now naked and radiant as 
the moon 
Clambering on his plunging prow those nights of June—
those nights of June !