The Small Philosophy

          C'est toi qui dors dans l'ombre, ô sacré souvenir 

If we could have remembrance now
And see, as in the winter's snow        
We shall, what's golden in these hours
The flitting, swift, intangible desires of sea and           
  strand!                                                                          

Who sees what's golden where we stand?                  
The sky's too bright, the sapphire sea too green;       
I, I am fevered, you cold-sweet, serene,                  

Yet looking back in days of snow
Unto this olden day that's now,                                
We'll see all golden in these hours                               
This memory of ours.                                                 

 Ford Madox Ford