I must go on with Time, and leave him there
In Autumn's house where dreams will soon grow thin.
When Time shall close the door unto the house
And opens that of Winter's soon to be,
And dreams go moving through the ruined boughs—
He who went in comes out a Memory.
From his deep sleep no sound may e'er arouse,—
The moaning rain, nor wind-embattled sea.

To the House of Falling Leaves (1908), pt. 4