These roses under my window make no
reference to former roses or to better ones;
they are for what they are;
they exist with God to-day.
There is no time to them.
There is simply the rose; it is perfect in
every moment of its existence.
Before a leaf-bud has burst, its whole life acts;
in the full-blown flower, there is no more;
in the leafless root, there is no less.
Its nature is satisfied, and it satisfies nature,
in all moments alike.
There is no time to it.
But man postpones or remembers;
he does not live in the present, but with
reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of
the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe
to foresee the future.
He cannot be happy and strong until he too
lives with nature in the present, above time.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson