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User Rating:
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5.9
/10
(104 votes)
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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 was born to be 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 not
the happy genius of my household?
William Carlos Williams
| Submitted Date |
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Friday, January 03, 2003 |
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Read poems about / on: lonely, mirror, baby, dance, happy, sun, tree, sleep
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