I will not have roses in my room again,
Nor listen to sonnets of Michael Angelo
To-night nor any night, nor fret my brain
With all the trouble of things that I should know.
I will be as other women-come and go
Careless and free, my own self sure and sane,
As I was once . . .then suddenly you were there
With your old power . . . roses were everywhere
And I was listening to Michael Angelo.