How can I work when you play the piano,
Feminine person above?
How can I think, with your ceaseless soprano
Singing: 'Ah, Love-'?
How can I dream of a subject aesthetic,
Far from the purlieus of prose?
How, with the call of the peripatetic
'High! High cash clo'es!'?
How can I write when the children are crying?
How can I poetize-how?
How can I help imper_fect_ versifying?
(There is some now.)
How can I bathe in the thought-waves of
beauty?
How, with my nerves on the slant,
Can I perform my poetical duty?
Frankly, I can't.