Edna St. Vincent Millay





Sonnet 93

Fatal Interview
xxiv   
Whereas 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 is 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 doors' opened and the issue shown, And I walk forth Hell's mistress . . . or my own.