behind the so-polite manner, was hidden such emotion

After the hour of splendour in the corn field
I would help B. gather grasses to feed
his rabbits and after the sacks were filled
           I would walk him home.

He could not have imagined that behind
my reserve, my barely-able-to-speak
mouth, that behind the so-polite manner,
           was hidden such emotion, such

ecstasy from my first taste of physical
love. He could not have imagined (though surely
he felt it) that I was in his power,
           that I was at his service.

[Pier Paolo Pasolini {1922-1975} 'At Your Service' from The Flower of Youth]