Chapter XVIII: Maiden

My heart is a slovenly russet peasant-girl
Flirting with staidly immaculate swains.

_Youth_

And mine is summer-rain
Strewing itself in mirthful swirls
Over the odorous pain of flowers
That long to dance.

_Maiden_

My heart will walk through yours,
Holding its crushed robe in both hands
And quieting, with gentle nakedness,
The mirthful rain and odorous pain in your heart.

_Youth_

When your heart leaves mine it will be an old woman
With two of my shrunken flowers for her breasts.