I learned, I learned – when one might be inclined To think, too late, you cannot recover your losses – I learned something of the nature of God’s mind, Not the abstract Creator but He who caresses The daily and nightly earth; He who refuses To take failure for an answer till again and again is worn. Love is waiting for you, waiting for the violence that she chooses From the tepidity of the common round beyond exhaustion or scorn. What was once is still and there is no need for remorse; There are no recriminations in Heaven. O the sensual throb Of the explosive body, the tumultuous thighs! Adown a summer lane comes Miss Universe, She whom no lecher’s art can rob Though she is not the virgin who was wise.