XIV

The bridegroom aches for the end of this and lusts

To know those paps in sucking gusts,

To put his first hand on that belly's hair

And feel for the lipped lair,

The fortress made but to be taken, for which

He feels the battering ram grow large and itch.

The trembling glad bride feels all the day hot

On that still cloistered spot

Where only her nightly maiden hand did feign

A pleasure's empty gain.

And, of the others, most will whisper at this,

Knowing the spurt it is;

And children yet, that watch with looking eyes,

Will now thrill to be wise

In flesh, and with big men and women act

The liquid tickling fact

For whose taste they'1l in secret corners try

They scarce know what still dry