Knowing that they can bring back thought
In the night that is still to be silent,
Reflecting this thing and that,
Before they sleep.
It is better that, as scholars,
They should think hard in the dark cuffs
Of voluminous cloaks,
And shave their heads and bodies.
It might well be that their mistress
Is no gaunt fugitive phantom.
She might, after all, be a wanton,
Abundantly beautiful, eager.
Fecund,
From whose being by starlight, on sea-coast,
The innermost good of their seeking
Might come in the simplest of speech.
The heavy  enjambment  from the previous line creates a very heavy focus of stress on this almost alien-sounding word, which sums up pretty well the kind of life– natural, reproductive– that the philosophers have shunned. 

Homunculus et La Belle Etoile