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?