Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.
Philosophy: a purple bullfinch in a lilac tree.
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair-
Old men ought to be explorers.
Turning Wearily, as one would turn to nod goodbye to Rochefoucauld, If the street were time and he as the end of the street.
The historical sense involves a perception, not only of the pastness of the past, but of its presence