You lie in Shelley’s arms, condemned,
In the sweetest bed,
Far from the public sun.
Banished by the morality of the crowd,
You fear your love-making is too loud,
For with discovery,
All you built with chaste lips will fall
And public disgrace
Will ruin your face
That Shelley now rains kisses on.
You would fly a kite
By the sea with him—but cannot.
Fate chose you and this is your lot.
Secrecy is your sea.
The world is Shelley, Shelley, Shelley!


  1. noochinator said,

    August 4, 2013 at 5:37 pm

    Speaking of Shelley, notice the last on the below reading list made by F. Scott Fitzgerald for one of his nurses:

    Sister Carrie: Theodore Dreiser
    The Life of Jesus: Ernest Renan
    A Doll’s House: Henrik Ibsen
    Winesburg, Ohio: Sherwood Anderson
    The Old Wives’ Tale: Arnold Bennett
    The Maltese Falcon: Dashiel Hammett
    The Red and the Black: Stendahl
    The Short Stories of Guy De Maupassant
    An Outline of Abnormal Psychology: edited by Gardner Murphy
    The Stories of Anton Chekhov
    The Best American Humorous Short Stories
    Victory: Joseph Conrad
    The Revolt of the Angels: Anatole France
    The Plays of Oscar Wilde
    Sanctuary: William Faulkner
    Within a Budding Grove: Marcel Proust
    The Guermantes Way: Marcel Proust
    Swann’s Way: Marcel Proust
    South Wind: Norman Douglas
    The Garden Party: Katherine Mansfield
    War and Peace: Leo Tolstoy
    John Keats and Percy Bysshe Shelley: Complete Poetical Works

  2. Diane Roberts Powell said,

    August 4, 2013 at 11:39 pm


    I simply cannot thank you enough for writing this lovely poem about me.

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