And still less was it sensual; for besides
That he was not an ancient debauchee,
(Who like sour fruit, to stir their veins’ salt tides,
As acids rouse a dormant alkali,)
Although (’twill happen as our planet guides)
His youth was not the chastest that might be,
There was the purest Platonism at bottom
Of all his feelings—only he forgot ’em.