There in close covert by some brook, Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring And such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep.
Beauty is desired in order that it may be befouled; not for its own sake, but for the joy brought by the certainty of profaning it. [ Elle est désirée pour la salir. Non pour elle-même, mais pour la joie goûtée dans la certitude de la profaner .]tom stoppard