Now I am old In body and bone My stone muse sings Proud and alone. But when I was young My muses stood Medusa-struck And drained of blood. Neither face nor body danced On the barren grass Of the white seashore, All their stony terror glued in a glance. All that I had planned And placed apart In the sacred mysteries of the heart Sunk like a stone in the lost sea. All the beautiful pride of her speech That had seemed, so far above death was it flung, The haughty original of chance Closed in dark colloquy and muddied breath.