Edgar Lee Masters

From “Canticle of the Race”

HOW beautiful are the bodies of men—

The agonists!

Their hearts beat deep as a brazen gong

For their strength’s behests.

Their arms are lithe as a seasoned thong

In games or tests—

When they run or box or swim the long

Sea-wave crests

With their slender legs, and their hips so strong,

And their rounded chests.

I know a youth who raises his arms

Over his head.

He laughs and stretches and flouts alarms

Of flood or fire.

He springs renewed from a lusty bed

To his youth’s desire.

He drowses, for April flames outspread

In his soul’s attire.

The strength of men is for husbandry

Of woman’s flesh:

Worker, soldier, magistrate

Of city or realm;

Artist, builder, wrestling Fate

Lest it overwhelm

The brood or the race, or the cherished state.

They sing at the helm

When the waters roar and the waves are great,

And the gale is fresh.

There are two miracles, women and men—

Yea, four there be:

A woman’s flesh, and the strength of a man,

And God’s decree,

And a babe from the womb in a little span

Ere the month be ten.

Their rapturous arms entwine and cling

In the depths of night;

He hunts for her face for his wondering,

And her eyes are bright.

A woman’s flesh is soil, but the spring

Is man’s delight.