Ah, this is not enough, I cry — how frail:
I do not want to be your weeping woman.

Live unlamenting, though obscure remaining:
my grandmothers were strong.

Now let no charitable hope dismay
one day the Amorous Lysander.

Spires of Grace Church: the triumph of Art
compels few womenkind

when I set out for Lowell.

. . . . .

spb: so