Poemas ingleses/XII

This is the month and this the day. Ye must not stay. Sally ye out and in warm clusters move To where beyond the trees the belfry's height Does in the blue wide heaven a message prove, Somewhat calm, of delight. Now flushed and whispering loud sally ye out To church! The sun pours on ordered rout, And all their following eyes clasp round the bride: They feel like hands her bosom and her side; Like the inside of vestments next her skin. They round her round and fold each crevice in; They lift her skirts up, as to tease or woo The cleft hid thing below; And this they think at her peeps in their ways And in theis glances plays.