C. P. Cavafy
The things he meekly imagined when a pupil, are open,
exposed before him. And he gets around, and all-nights,
and strays. And as is (for our art) right,
pleasure exults in
his blood, fresh and warm.
His body is bested by
lawless erotic rapture; and his young
limbs succumb to it.
And so a plain boy
becomes worthy of our notice, and through the High
World of Poetry for a moment this passes too –
the shapely boy with his blood fresh and warm.
[Written 1914; Published 1917]