We Moved Together Very Slowly Toward The

February, When The Days Of Winter Seem Endless And No Amount Of Wistful Recollecting Can Bring Back Any Air Of Summer.

Hill House, She Thought, You're As Hard To Get Into As Heaven.

We Eat The Year Away. We Eat The Spring And The Summer And The Fall. We Wait For Something To Grow And Then We Eat It.

She Had Taken To Wondering Lately, During These Swift-counted Years, What Had Been Done With All Those Wasted Summer Days; How Could She Have Spent Them So Wantonly? I Am Foolish, She Told Herself Early Every Summer, I Am Very Foolish; I Am Grown Up Now And Know The Values Of Things. Nothing Is Ever Really Wasted, She Believed Sensibly, Even One's Childhood, And Then Each Year, One Summer Morning, The Warm Wind Would Come Down The City Street Where She Walked And She Would Be Touched With The Little Cold Thought: I Have Let More Time Go By.

On The Moon We Wore Feathers In Our Hair, And Rubies On Our Hands. On The Moon We Had Gold Spoons.