So first, your memory I'll jog, And say: A CAT IS NOT A DOG

And through the spaces of the dark Midnight shakes the memory As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Now that the lilacs are in bloom She has a bowl of lilacs in her room

Turning Wearily, as one would turn to nod goodbye to Rochefoucauld, If the street were time and he as the end of the street.

Think not forever of yourselves, O Chiefs, nor of your own generation. Think of continuing generations of our families, think of our grandchildren and of those yet unborn, whose faces are coming from beneath the ground.

At the beach - time you enjoyed wasting, is not wasted.

Disillusion can become itself an illusion If we rest in it.