You say that spite avails her nothing, that

You rest intact in conscience and intact

In self, a man of longer time than days,

Of larger company than one. Therefore,

Pure scientist, you look with nice aplomb

At this indifferent experience,

Deploring sentiment. When May came last,

And equally as scientist you walked

Among the orchards in the apple-blocks

And saw the blossoms, snow-bred pink and white,

Making your heart of brass to intercept

The childish onslaughts of such innocence,

Why was it that you cast the brass away

And bared yourself, and bared yourself in vain?

She can corrode your world, if never you.