He lies above the stream, his vanity,
the water, overcharmed, still underneath.
Like water the waters drink in his looks
and bend and smooth them over, as he looks—
he looks at the face looking looks at him,
eyes like two glasses, each doubles within
that double of beauty which in the water slims
the indelicate power of each fading hour.

Those lashes which women by their arts and grace
today do try to ever recreate,
full sensuous and thick, the feminine lips—
to this boy first owe the effete effect.
Burdened with no thought but thoughtful self-desire,
he pines for the face that replaced the face in the mirror.