"Anna, belov'd, I'm in the wind and cold."
I want no men. I'm weary to the soul
Of men like moths about a candle flame,
Of men like flies about a sugar bowl,
Acting alike, and all wanting the same,
My dreamed-of swirl of passion never came,
No man has given me the love I dreamed,
But in the best of each one something gleamed.
If my dear darling were alive, but he...
He was the same; he didn't understand.