I have old women’s secrets now That had those of the young; Madge tells me what I dared not think When my blood was strong, And what had drowned a lover once Sounds like an old song. Though Margery is stricken dumb If thrown in Madge’s way, We three make up a solitude; For none alive to-day Can know the stories that we know Or say the things we say: How such a man pleased women most Of all that are gone, How such a pair loved many years And such a pair but one, Stories of the bed of straw Or the bed of down. His Wildness O bid me mount and sail up there Amid the cloudy wrack, For Peg and Meg and Paris’ love That had so straight a back, Are gone away, and some that stay, Have changed their silk for sack. Were I but there and none to hear I’d have a peacock cry For that is natural to a man That lives in memory, Being all alone I’d nurse a stone And sing it lullaby. THE THREE MONUMENTS They hold their public meetings where Our most renowned patriots stand, One among the birds of the air, A stumpier on either hand; And all the popular statesmen say That purity built up the state And after kept it from decay; Admonish us to cling to that And let all base ambition be, For intellect would make us proud And pride bring in impurity: The three old rascals laugh aloud. FROM ‘OEDIPUS AT COLONUS’ I Endure what life God gives and ask no longer span; Cease to remember the delights of youth, travel-wearied aged man; Delight becomes death-longing if all longing else be vain. II Even from that delight memory treasures so, Death, despair, division of families, all entanglements of mankind grow, As that old wandering beggar and these God-hated children know. III In the long echoing street the laughing dancers throng, The bride is carried to the bridegroom’s chamber through torchlight and tumultuous song; I celebrate the silent kiss that ends short life or long. IV Never to have lived is best, ancient writers say; Never to have drawn the breath of life, never to have looked into the eye of day; The second best’s a gay goodnight and quickly turn away. THE GIFT OF HARUN AL-RASHID