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T. S. Eliot, from “Burnt Norton”
Footfalls echo in the memoryDown the passage which we did not takeTowards the door we never openedInto the rose-garden. My words echoThus, in your mind. But to what purposeDisturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leavesI do not know. Other echoesInhabit the garden. Shall we follow?Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,Round the corner.… →