XI
“Troubled About Many Things.”
How many times these low feet staggered,Only the soldered mouth can tell;Try! can you stir the awful rivet?Try! can you lift the hasps of steel?
Stroke the cool forehead, hot so often,Lift, if you can, the listless hair;Handle the adamantine fingersNever a thimble more shall wear.
Buzz the dull flies on the chamber window;Brave shines the sun through the freckled pane;Fearless the cobweb swings from the ceiling—Indolent housewife, in daisies lain!