Old men are always young enough to learn, with profit. - Aeschylus

that we must suffer, suffer into truth.
We cannot sleep, and drop by drop at the heart
the pain of pain remembered comes again
and we resist, but ripeness comes as well.
From the gods enthroned on the awesome rowing-bench
there comes a violent love.

Crouched on the altar-steps, a grisly band
Of women slumbers — not like women they,
But Gorgons rather; nay, that word is weak,
Nor may I match the Gorgons’ shape with theirs!
Such have I seen in painted semblance erst — Winged Harpies, snatching food from Phineus’ board, — But these are wingless, black, and all their shape
The eye’s abomination to behold.
Fell is the breath — let none draw nigh to it — Wherewith they snort in slumber; from their eyes
Exude the damnèd drops of poisonous ire:
And such their garb as none should dare to bring
To statues of the gods or homes of men.

I know the stars by heart,
the armies of the night, and there in the lead the ones that bring us snow or the crops of summer, bring us all we have — our great blazing kings of the sky, I know them, when they rise and when they fall . . .