"First, I am a heart That from my youth has sought for love and hungered. And Elenor Murray's heart had hungered too, Which drew our hearts together, made our love As it were mystical, more real. I was A boy who sought for beauty, hope and faith In woman's love; at fourteen met a girl Who carried me to ecstasy till I walked In dreamland, stepping clouds. She loved me too. I could not cure my heart, have always felt A dull pain for that girl. She died, you know. I found another, rather made myself Discover my ideal in her, until My heart was sure she was the one. And then I woke up from this trance, went to another Still searching; always searching, reaching now An early cynicism, how to play with hearts, Extract their beauty, pass to someone else. I was a little tired now, seemed to know There is no wonder woman, just a woman Somewhere to be a wife. And then I met The woman whom I married, thought to solve My problem with the average things of life; The satisfaction of insistent sex, A home, a regular program, turn to work, Forget the dream, the quest. What did I find? A woman who exhausted me and bored me, Stirred never a thought, a fancy, brought no friends, No pleasures or diversions, took from me All that I had to give of mind and heart, Purse, or what not. And she was barren too, And restless; by that restlessness relieved The boredom of our life; it took her off In travels here and there. And I was glad To have her absent, but it still is true There is a hell in marriage, when it keeps Delights of freedom off, all other women Not willing to intrigue, pass distantly Your married man; but on the other hand What was my marriage with a wife away Six months or more of every year? And when I said to her, divorce me, she would say, You want your freedom to get married--well, The other woman shall not have you, if There is another woman, as I think. And so the years went by. I'm thirty-five And meet a woman, play light heartedly, She is past thirty, understands nor asks A serious love. It's summer and we jaunt About the country, for my wife's away. As usual, in the fall returns, and then My woman says, the holiday is over, Go back to work, and I'll go back to work. I cannot give her up, would still go on For this delight so sweet to me. By will I hold her, stir the fire up to inflame Her hands for me, make love to her in short And find myself in love, beholding in her All beauties and all virtues. Well, at first What did I care what she had been before, Whose mistress, sweetheart? Now I cared and asked Fidelity from her, and this she pledged. And so a settled life seemed come to us, We had found happiness. But on a day I caught her in unfaithfulness. A man She knew before she knew me crossed her path. Why do they do this, even while their lips Are wet with kisses given you? I think