Say whatever turned round in Plato's skull Or mounted Mary Magdalene's heart, St Teresa's chest, Pours quickly away; chill vapors dispersed by day. Say chance is in our substance and makes us free. Say whatever terror that holds man by the throat Is shed by accidental antidote. That St John in pan's cavern dwelt. Vast plans that had Caesar's mind for habitation Or in Hitler's bunker slept, and map by map were built, Were map by map and town by town disintegrated. Say chance whirls in what strength or thought threw out. Who knows but that chance is projected indecision, Petty habits of the mind grown great, great thoughts grown worse. What do we know of history and fate? Did Venus, Who knew Adonis' worth, imbibe his dead sperm for bitterness? What in her belly purred? What from the great legs leapt?