It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,

The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for
me,
I tuck’d my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a
good time;
You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.

Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,
Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;
Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.

The beards of the young men glisten’d with wet, it ran from
their long hair,
Little streams pass’d all over their bodies.