As soon as you wake they come blundering in
    like puppies or importunate children;
What was a landscape emerging from mist
    becomes at once a disordered garden.

And the mess they trail with them! Embarrassments,
    anger, lust, fear—in fact the whole pig-pen;
And who’ll clean it up? No hope for sleep now—
    just heave yourself out, make the tea, and give in.