The Winged Beetle

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 !