Whereas at Morning by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Whereas at morning in a jeweled crown

I bit my fingers and was hard to please, / Having shook disaster till the fruit fell down

I feel tonight more happy and at ease:

Feet running in the corridors, men quick-Buckling their sword-belts bumping down the stair, / Challenge, and rattling bridge-chain, and the click

Of hooves on pavement-this will clear the air.

Private this chamber as it has not been

In many a month of muffled hours; almost, / Lulled by the uproar, I could lie serene

And sleep, until all's won, until all's lost, / And the door's opened and the issue shown, / And I walk forth Hell's mistress. or my own .