Dance Russe
If I 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 am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,
Who shall say I am nor the happy
genius of my household?
