November 1953
I loved too tamely, I had thought, and you
Became a kindly jailer in my mind.
Monotony of living helped to blind
My soporific eyes to what was true.
I wept for me condemned to this milieu.
I was a martyr; somewhere I would find
A wild, free-flaming love, and it would bind
Me not, nor would it ask me to subdue
This independent soul, so fettered now.
But you were gone awhile and then I learned
Without you freedom was a jail, and how
Could I escape? The heart within me yearned
For chains again. No freedom could allow
The warm sweet need of love with which I burned.