Training

Not this week nor this month dare I lie down In languour under lime trees or smooth smile. Love must not kiss my face pale that is brown.

My lips, parting, shall drink space, mile by mile; Strong meats be all my hunger; my renown Be the clean beauty of speed and pride of style.

Cold winds encountered on the racing Down Shall thrill my heated bareness; but awhile None else may meet me till I wear my crown.