Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

STEPHANOS With songs from the Isis o’erladen Thou stand’st in the battle’s full Disdaining the breast of the maiden And spurning her fatuous cunt. Brave buggery’s fervent apostle ! We fuck thee until we are faint, Our comrade of cockstands colossal, O, Stephane, saint ! Nor wall-hole nor girl-hole nor grass-hole Accepts thy implacable cock ; But the brown, wrinkled crease of an arse-hole Is thine for — the furious block ; When fervent and swollen the torrent Of solid and spasmical spend Rolls luminous up through the horrent Back-side of a friend ! Thou hast come, and the great anticlimax Is pallid in face of the dawn ; But thy joy with a quickmoving eye Max B..rb..m has rapidly drawn. A penis erect is thy totem, Thy fetish a boot — very quaint ! But thy visage resembles a bottom, O, Stephane, saint ! The garlands that crowned you and girt you, Of feminine : figures and frail Are torn from the bosom of virtue By sodomy’s gustier gale. [104]