Three rompers run together hand in hand. 
The middle boy stops short, the others hurtle: 
What bumps, what shrieks, what laughter turning turtle. 
Love, racing between us two, has planned 
a sudden mischief: shortly he will stand 
And we shall shock. We cannot help but fall; 
what matter? Why, it will not hurt at all, 
Our youth is supple, and the world is sand. 
Better our lips should bruise our eyes, than He, 
Rude Love, outrun our breath; you pant, and I, 
I cannot run much further; mind that we 
both laugh with love; and having tumbled, try 
To go forever children, hand in hand. 
The sea is rising, and the world is sand.