His hand is underHer smooth round breast;So he who has sorrowShall have rest.
In the dark pine-woodI would we lay,In deep cool shadowAt noon of day.
For he shall know thenFriends be untrueAnd a little ashesTheir words come to.
O Sweetheart, hear youYour lover‘s tale;A man shall have sorrowWhen friends him fail.
About a month passed thus. Every night Miss Evelyn becamemore and more at herher ease,ease, and confident of my merechildishness, often gave me glorious and lengthened glimpses ofher beautifully developed charms
