The Secrets of the Old

    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 solitude¹；

    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.