When I am an old lady br the young men br will come to me br & sit trembling br at my trembling br feet br saying: br br you must have been br beautiful br when you were young; br you must have been br a wonderful lover- br & perhaps br they will still feel br that current br which you say br passes from me br to you br & which you give back br doubled br on our wild br afternoons. br br The madness br will still be there- br the current of sex, br of poetry, of heroism- br which is only br another name br for God br passing through us- br God, Goddess, br whoever br we call Her- br br that ancient lady br who sits above the world br spinning out br our destinies. br br She looped your life br around mine; br she took the weft br of your need br & gave me br the bright threads br to weave you br into my life- br br old Circe br playing music on her loom, br & weaving men br into her glittering br tapestry. br br Woven into her cloth, br still, br they feel free. br Bewitched by her poems, br still, br they feel strong. br Drunk on her Pramnian wine, br still, br they feel clear- br as if they were marching br through life br alone. br br But it is she br who guides them, br leading them br now by their cocks, br now by their hearts, br now by swinishness- br br but what does she feel br alone br on her cloud throne? br She feels lonely. br Lonely to know br all she knows br & lonely even being loved br by so many br br sleepy br beasts.