would she let go of? I hunkered closer and squinted to see. She pressed her nose into his high-necked sweater and protested, "You don't know what that poem does to me!"
"Suffer it," ordered her mate -- not Brickett Ranunculus more inexorably mastered his does! "The Pre-Schoolist poets knew what naked feeling was."
"That's just it," the female said. "That's it exactly. I'm --naked to that poem, you know?"
Here I tumesced, for the fellow turned her face deliberately to his and intoned: "These lecture-halls do like a garment wear the beauty of the nighttime. . ." Was it for pain or joy she closed her eyes, bit her lip? "Labs, towers, dorms, and classrooms lie all bright and glittering in the smokeless air. . ." She clutched at the wool of his sleeves, fighting as most all nannies against what passionately now she craved; and at length, in hoarse surrender, whispered: "Ne'er saw I, never felt, a surge so deep! The Tower Clock moves on at its sweet will. . .Oh my! I can't!"
But surely, with no pause in the rhythm of his woo, her : "Dear Founder! See the Library --glowing keep of all thy mighty mind -- resplendent still!"
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