As you bend to touch
The gypsy girl
Who waits for you in the hedge
Her loose dress falls open.
Midsummer ditch-sickness!
Flushed, freckled with earth-fever,
Swollen lips parted, her eyes closing,
A lolling armful, and so young! Hot
Among the insane spiders.
You glimpse the reptile under-speckle
Of her sunburned breasts
And your head swims. You close your eyes.
Can the foxes talk? Your head throbs.
Remember the bird's tolling echo,
The dripping fern roots, and the butterfly touches
That woke you
Remember your mother's
Long, dark dugs.
Her silky body a soft oven
For loaves of pollen.
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BY TED HUGHES