The poem
Oh would I could subdue the flesh Which sadly troubles me! And then perhaps could view the flesh As though I never knew the flesh And merry misery.
To see the golden hiking girl With wind about her hair, The tennis-playing, biking girl, The wholly-to-my-liking girl, To see and not to care.
At sundown on my tricycle I tour the Borough's edge, And icy as an icicle See bicycle by bicycle Stacked waiting in the hedge.
Get down from me! I thunder there, You spaniels! Shut your jaws! Your teeth are stuffed with underwear, Suspenders torn asunder there And buttocks in your paws!
Oh whip the dogs away my Lord, They make me ill with lust. Bend bare knees down to pray, my Lord, Teach sulky lips to say, my Lord, That flaxen hair is dust.
Reprinted with the permission of John Murray (Publishers) Ltd.