Like usurers that briefly lend the sun
Disfavor and a stinted while to run
With flaunting vigor through life’s large estate
Of fire and turmoil; or like thieves that hate
No law-lord save the posturing of desire
With genuflexions where dejections tire
The fig-leaf’s trophy with the fig-leaf’s weight.
Yes; they are subtle: and where no light is
These tread not openly, as heretofore,
With whisperings of that at odds with this