The deft maid’s fingers in the unruly hair;
The risqué talk of some sweet social sinner,
Half-heard across the table’s candle-glare;
The Bridge, so much too high for a beginner;
The Ball; the moment’s whisper on the stair:
The thousand faces, phases, thoughts, books, travellings,
Which whirl youth’s silk cocoon in its unravellings.
Ah no! not ours with huckstering pen to retail
How slumb’rous beauties wake from girl-time’s dozing.
Let Hubert Wales and D. H. Lawrence detail