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Poem	Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes: The Deluge or else Fire! She's well, she thanks My husbandship. Our chain on silence clanks. Time leers between, above his twiddling thumbs. Am I quite well? Most excellent in health! The journals, too, I diligently peruse. Vesuvius is expected to give news: Niagara is no noisier. By stealth Our eyes dart scrutinizing snakes. She's glad I'm happy, says her quivering under-lip. "And are not you?" "How can I be?" "Take ship! For happiness is somewhere to be had." "Nowhere for me!" Her voice is barely heard. I am not melted, and make no pretence. With commonplace I freeze her, tongue and sense. Niagara or Vesuvius is deferred.
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