Time and the bell have buried the day,
The black cloud carries the sun away.
Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis
Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray
Clutch and cling?
Chill
Fingers of yew be curled
Down on us? After the kingfisher’s wind
Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still
At the still point of the turning world.
–T.S. Eliot, excerpt from “Burnt Norton”, Four Quartets
