If when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades—
Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
Al Que Quiere! A Book of Poems, 1917
YOU ARE READING
'Twas Brillig
PoetryPoems from the public domain. Favorite pieces of our shared intellectual property. This land is your land, this land is my land.
