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Danse Russe By William Carlos Williams
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?