Smiling the boy fell dead.
The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride.
The moment eternal - just that and no more - When ecstasy's utmost we clutch at the core While cheeks burn, arms open, eyes shut, and lips meet!
The curious crime, the fine Felicity and flower of wickedness.
A man in armour is his armour's slave.
O woman-country! wooed not wed, Loved all the more by earth's male-lands, Laid to their hearts instead.