I said, ''Yeats, I'm too old, I'm not young enough to ride the carrousel on calliope tunes of love.'' ''Go ride, ride, old woman! You can afford the fare. Round, go merry, go round, while the dizzy benches stare.'' Oh love is a circular thing. Nobody's steady enough to sit near the whirling platform, just sit there watching life spin off from the ticket-cage, panting away from the gate. Round, go merry, go round, the painted horse won't wait! Reach for the extra turn, round, go merry, the brass ring that bold ones seize to music as they pass. Take, and take! Rear up, equestrian! Let motion keep you in pinto passage and bonus circulation!