All time is unreedemable.
When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smooths her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone.
No place of grace for those who avoid the Face. No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the Voice.
We shall not cease from exploration
At the still point, there the dance is.
These fragments I have shored against my ruins