But as I said I walked the galleries. When I stood in the yard Bare armed, bare throated at my work, she came And gazed upon me from her window. I Could feel the exhausting influence of her eyes. Then in a concentration which was blindness To all else, so bewilderment of mind, I'd go to see Watteau's Antiope Where he sketched Zeus in hunger, drawing back The veil that hid her sleeping nakedness. There was Correggio's too, on whom a satyr Smiled for his amorous wonder. A Semele, Done by an unknown hand, a thing of lightning Moved through by Zeus who seized her as the flames Consumed her ravished beauty. So I looked, And trembled, then returned perhaps to find Her eyes upon me conscious, calm, elate, And radiate with lashes of surprise, Delight as when a star is still but shines. And on this night somehow our natures worked To climaxes. For first she dressed for dinner To show more back and bosom than before. And as I served her, her down-looking eyes Were more than glances. Then she dropped her napkin. Before I could begin to bend she leaned And let me see--oh yes, she let me see The white foam of her little breasts caressing The scarlet flame of silk, a swooning shore Of bright carnations. It was from such foam That Venus rose. And as I stooped and gave The napkin to her she pushed out a foot, And then I coughed for breath grown short, and she Concealed a smile--and you, you jailers laugh Coarse-mouthed, and mock my hunger.