Was living simply what she wished to live:
A lovely life of rounded womanhood;
With no sharp, salient points for eye or ear
To seize and pass quick judgment on. Not quite
Content was she to let the golden days
Slip from her fingers like the well-worn beads
Of some long rosary, told o’er and o’er
Each night with dull, mechanical routine;
But yet she had no central purpose; no
Absorbing aim to which all else must yield;