The Bath

The man and beast, like antique monster, free,
Reinless and nude, the sea have entered in
Mid the gold mist of pungent pulverin—
Athletic group on sky's refulgency.

The savage horse, and tamer rude as he,
Breathe the brine's fragrance deep their lungs within,
As mad with joy they feel upon their skin
The Atlantic's billows beating icily.

The surge swells, runs, wall-like is piled,
Then breaks. They cry. His tail the stallion plies
Until the wave in jets transplendent flies;

And with disheveled locks and aspect wild
Their smoking, heaving breasts they well oppose
Against the foam-crowned breakers' lashing blows.