The Odtaa at Girton (for Virginia Woolf)

Speaking of women, Virginia, you
Made a difference, though willows
Still weep, on banks of water,
Their hair about their shoulders.
And writers still fish rivers for thoughts.

Multitudes of women sit indoors
In rooms calm or thunderous,
Open on to the sea,
The city or a prison yard
Hung with washing.

Reality, you said,
Is an undependable thing,
A dusty road, a scrap of newspaper,
A daffodil in the sun.  It is the remains when the skin of the day
Has been cast into a hedge.

Truly there must be freedom
Must be peace, not a wheel must grate,
Not a light glimmer.  The curtains
Must be close drawn, and yet…
Dogs will bark, people will interrupt;
Health will break down, and the world,
The world will be indifferent.