Were clear as the unshadowed Grecian heaven;
Dewy and sleek his dimpled shoulder rounded
To the white arms and whiter breast between them.
Downward, the supple lines had less of softness:
His back was like a god’s; his loins were moulded
As if some pulse of power began to waken;
The springy fullness of his thighs, outswerving,
Sloped to his knee, and lightly dropping downward,
Drew the curved lines that breathe, in rest, of motion.
Musing a space he stood, a light smile playing