- She had thought the studio would keep itself;
- no dust upon the furniture of love.
- Half heresy, to wish the taps less vocal,
- the panes relieved of grime. A plate of pears,
- a piano with a Persian shawl, a cat
- stalking the picturesque amusing mouse
- had risen at his urging.
- Not that at five each separate stair would writhe
- under the milkman's tramp; that morning light
- so coldly would delineate the scraps
- of last night's cheese and three sepulchral bottles;
- that on the kitchen shelf amoong the saucers
- a pair of beetle-eyes would fix her own--
- envoy from some village in the moldings...
- Meanwhile, he, with a yawn,
- sounded a dozen notes upon the keyboard,
- declared it out of tune, shrugged at the mirror,
- rubbed at his beard, went out for cigarettes;
- while she, jeered by the minor demons,
- pulled back the sheets and made the bed and found
- a towel to dust the table-top,
- and let the coffee-pot boil over on the stove.
- By evening she was back in love again,
- though not so wholly but throughout the night
- she woke sometimes to feel the daylight coming
- like a relentless milkman up the stairs.