As I go up and down my stair and pass the gilded Moorish wedding-chest
where I keep my "barbarous words," I wonder will I take to them once more,
for I am baffled by those voices that still speak as to Odysseus but as
the bats; or now that I shall in a little be growing old, to some kind of
simple piety like that of an old woman.
_May_ 9, 1917.