For smooth, white thighs and hot, fierce mouths they feel
Naught else than heavy-lidded lassitude.
All of a sudden voices rend the streets;
“Comrades, away! The spring is calling, haste
Ere we tear moon and stars from out the sky!”
The echoes give them courage, and the town
Becomes an archipelago of cries.
Men hop and run as little children run
Pink-naked on a curling yellow beach.
The women gaze from doorsteps, gorgon-eyed