Slowly the concept escapes us
The concept of time, while we dwell on others--
As long as we do not recall the melody
We remain clean and ignorant.
We are those who walk step within step
Down and down; we pass art wishing
We had reason to laugh. There are those
Who do remember the nineteenth-century strains we heard;
But they read uncritically if they can get away with it
And are amazed by Turners when they don't have their glasses on.
We might have questions for them:
So we are ashamed and wish not for our sight
To be blemished as theirs is with foolery.
They strive to build these dumb domes in air...
Yet they do know. They have known.
We dwell on the other we choose and yet we know not
That we are just as in love.