An Asphodel O dear sweet rosy unattainable desire . . .how sad, no way to change the mad cultivated asphodel, the visible reality. . . and skin's appalling petals--how inspired to be so Iying in the living room drunk naked and dreaming, in the absence of electricity . . . over and over eating the low root of the asphodel, gray fate . . . rolling in generation on the flowery couch as on a bank in Arden-- my only rose tonite's the treat of my own nudity.