I saw him go down to the water to bathe;
He stood naked upon the bank.
His legs rose with the spring and curve of young birches;
The hollow of his back caught the blue shadows:
With his head thrown up to the lips of the wind;
And the curls of his forehead astir with the wind.
I would that I were a man, they are so beautiful;
Their bodies are like the bows of the Indians;
They have the spring and the grace of bows of hickory.