V.
Housewife
Seraphic and relaxed, you take
Your novel with uncertain thumbs,
As one who lingers over cake
And dreads the thought of final crumbs.
Frown at my precious sorcery
And label me an envious elf.
If human beings could agree
Their boredom might revenge itself.
O youthful housewife, weighing grains
Of joy upon your empty smile,
The total of my bolder gains
Is but a more impressive guile.
Your serious child wins the alert
And limpid art of playing tag,
While your emotions rest inert
Like dried fruit in a paper bag.
And yet I envy both of you
And wish that I could also find
The mildness of your fancied view,
Where feelings dance and thoughts are kind.
VI.
Woman
They worship musical sound
Protecting the breast of emotion.
Their feelings pose as fortune-tellers
And angle for coins from credulous thoughts.
Shall we abandon this luxury
Of mild mist and wild raptures?
Your face refrains from saying yes
But your closed eyes roundly
Reward the luminous sentence.
Greece and Asia have exchanged
Problems upon your face,
And the fine poise of your head
Tries to catch their conversation.
Few people care to use
Thought as a musical instrument
That brings its singing restraint to grief and joy,
But we, with straight arms, will descend
Daringly upon this situation.
The full-blown confusion of life
Will detest our intrusion.