Suppressed Complex T.S. Eliot

She lay very still in bed with stubborn eyes
Holding her breath lest she begin to think
I was a shadow upright in the corner
Dancing joyously in the firelight.

She stirred in her sleep and clutched the blanket with
her fingers  
She was very pale and breathed hard.
When morning shook the long nasturtium creeper in the
tawny bowl
I passed joyously out through the window.