“I am too old to try the peddler’s tricks, Too wise, too foolish, too long strayed in the wood, The custom of the world is not my custom…

It was such years ago. She must have changed. I know that I have changed.
We find such things And lose them, and must live in spite of it.
Only a fool goes looking for the wind That blew across his heartstrings yesterday, Or breaks his hands in the obscure attempt To dig the knotted roots of Time apart, Hoping to resurrect the golden mask
Of the lost year inviolate from the ground.
Only a fool drives horses in the sky.”