The Old Women

They pass upon their old, tremulous feet,

Creeping with little satchels down the street,

And they remember, many years ago,

Passing that way in silks. They wander, slow

And solitary, through the city ways,

And they alone remember those old days

Men have forgotten. In their shaking heads

A dancer of old carnivals yet treads

The measure of past waltzes, and they see

The candles lit again, the patchouli

Sweeten the air, and the warm cloud of musk

Enchant the passing of the passionate dusk.

Then you will see a light begin to creep

Under the earthen eyelids, dimmed with sleep,

And a new tremor, happy and uncouth,

Jerking about the corners of the mouth.

Then the old head drops down again, and shakes,

Muttering.