Three rompers

Three rompers run together hand in hand.

The middle boy stops short, the others hurtle:

What bumps, what shrieks, what laughter turning turtle.

Love, racing between us two, has planned

a sudden mischief: shortly he will stand

And we shall shock. We cannot help but fall;

what matter? Why, it will not hurt at all,

Our youth is supple, and the world is sand.

Better our lips should bruise our eyes, than He,

Rude Love, outrun our breath; you pant, and I,

I cannot run much further; mind that we

both laugh with love; and having tumbled, try

To go forever children, hand in hand.

The sea is rising, and the world is sand.