One thing does not exist: Oblivion.
God saves the metal and the dross, his key
Ciphers in his prophetic memory
The moons to come, and moons of evenings gone.

All there: reflections in the looking-glass
-Between the two huge twilights of the day-
That your face has gone leaving where you pass,
And those it will go leaving on your way.

And everything is part of that diverse
Crystal of memory, the universe;
Unending are the mazes it engenders

Of doors that seal themselves as you walk through;
Only from sunset’s farther side shall you
Behold at last the Archetypes and Splendors.