Not this week nor this month dare I lie down br In languour under lime trees or smooth smile. br Love must not kiss my face pale that is brown. br br My lips, parting, shall drink space, mile by mile; br Strong meats be all my hunger; my renown br Be the clean beauty of speed and pride of style. br br Cold winds encountered on the racing Down br Shall thrill my heated bareness; but awhile br None else may meet me till I wear my crown.