Where the light is, and each thing clear, Separate from all others, standing in its place, I drink the time and touch whatever's near, <p> And hope f… - Delmore Schwartz

Each minute bursts in the burning room, The great globe reels in the solar fire, Spinning the trivial and unique away. (How all things flash! How all things flare!) What am I now that I was then? May memory restore again and again The smallest color of the smallest day: This is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn.

I am my father's father,
You are your children's guilt. In history's pity and terror
The child is Aeneas again; Troy is in the nursery,
The rocking horse is on fire. Child labor! The child must carry
His fathers on his back.

How the false truths of the years of youth have passed! Have passed at full speed like trains which never stopped There where I stood and waited, hardly aware, How little I knew, or which of them was the one To mount and ride to hope or where true hope arrives.