(Taking off from Wordsworth.)

Behold her, single on the balcony,
Yon happy, silent, solitary lass.
She looks below—–at traffic flowing by,
Her hair let free on winds that lightly pass.
With pleasure do I contemplate her face
And claim with satisfaction her bright smile.
She cannot see me here inside my space
Where, solitary, too, I stand the while.
Mayhap her gladness be the same as mine,
And we both wait our lovers’ “Hi!” to hear;
Perhaps she’s finished work that’s very fine,
Exulting now for deeds that were so dear.
And then, perhaps, it’s nothing more than this:
A moment by herself in perfect bliss.

She leans on back and laughs—then sways around;
And I laugh, too, for such a joy profound.