The poem
The summer hums. The afternoon fatigues; she breathed her crisp white dress distractedly and put into it that sharply etched etude her impatience for a reality
that could come: tomorrow, this evening--, that perhaps was there, was just kept hidden; and at the window, tall and having everything, she suddenly could feel the pampered park.
With that she broke off; gazed outside, locked her hands together; wished for a long book-- and in a burst of anger shoved back the jasmine scent. She found it sickened her.