Pubescence Dawn's with a new hairy uneasiness:
The fact of life, the talk of a man.
Deep stature and a voice that cracks the Earth.
The perfume of life, or just a devilish odour. ...
Sometimes, to solace my sad heart, I say,
Though late it be, though lily-time be past,
Though all the summer skies be overcast,
Haply I will go down to her, some day,
And cast my rests of life before her feet,
That she may have her will of me, being so sweet
And none gainsay!