XVI.

He is afraid, seeing her lie so still,

So utterly his own; afraid lest she

Should open wide her eyes and let him see

The passionate conquest of her virgin will

Shine there in triumph, starry-bright with tears.

He thrusts her from him: face and hair and breast,

Hands he had touched, lips that his lips had pressed,

Seem things deadly to be desired. He fears

Lest she should body forth in palpable shame

Those dreams and longings that his blood, aflame

Through the hot dark of summer nights, had dreamed

And longed. Must all his love, then, turn to this?

Was lust the end of what so pure had seemed?

He must escape, ah God! her touch, her kiss.