When I was a lady, and all
My suitors were ignored who loudly came to call,
I dreamed of a humble one who wrote
Music. I loved each quiet note.
There is a loudness that is not heard
As loudness—now everyone may hear the bird
Who once sang on my window-ledge
Only to me—my secret privilege.
The bird only sang to me!
My secrecy and my vanity and my poetry
Became intertwined.
Talk to me of the rock arena, but that’s no interest of mine.
