Footfalls echo in the memory

Time present and time past

Are both perhaps present in time future,

And time future contained in time past.

If all time is eternally present

All time is unredeemable.

What might have been, is an abstraction

Remaining a perpetual possibility

Only in a world of speculation.

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present.

Footfalls echo in the memory

Down the passage, which we did not take

Towards the door, we never opened

Into the rose garden. My words echo

Thus, in your mind.

But to what purpose

Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose leaves

I do not know.

Other echoes

Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?

Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,

Round the corner. Through the first gate,

Into our first world, shall we follow

The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.

There they were, dignified, invisible,

Moving without pressure over the dead leaves,

In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,

And the bird called, in response to

The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,

And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses

Had the look of flowers that are looked at.

There they were as our guests accepted and accepting.

So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,

Along the empty alley, into the box circle,

To look down into the drained pool.

Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown-edged,

And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,

And the lotos rose quietly, quietly,

The surface glittered out of heart of light,

And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.

Then, a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.

Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,

Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.

Go, go, go, said the bird: humankind

Cannot bear very much reality.

Time past and time future

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present.

~T. S. Eliot