Whereas At Morning In A Jeweled Crown by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Whereas at morning in a Jeweled Crown I bit my fingers and was hard to please, Having shook disaster till the fruit fell down I feel tonight more happy and at ease: Feet running in the corridors, men quick— Buckling their sword-belts, bumping down the stair, Challenge, and rattling bridge-chain, and the click Of hooves on pavement—this will clear the air. Private this chamber as it has not been In many a month of muffled hours; almost, Lulled by the uproar, I could lie serene And sleep, until all's won, until all's lost, And the door's opened and the issue shown, And I walk forth Hell's Mistress—or my own.
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