Chapter III

My room is narrow,
But wide enough.
My desk and pencils are wide as the world
And my books are like palaces and far journeys.

What have I need of space?
There is always room enough for thinking,
Or for dreaming or desiring.
There is always room enough to smile
And sing
And cry out.
If the feet are happy they can always dance
Even in narrowness.

(And a small room can be cold for a large one
When the mornings are gray.)