He should have died heretofore --
There would have been time to set such words aright;
Yesterdays and all its yesterdays
Have crept within his mind, and dimmed its light,
Marring each syllable of remembered verse,
And making it not better, yet, much worse.
An overdose of yesterdays breeds fools
Gloomy with promises of dust. Light up anew, brief candle!
Life calls for shadow players, as well as well-played shades.
And then, an interlude, and sounds it yet again,
Returning, half like a lover, half like an idiot, a tale
Recurring in fury and in undying love,
Infinite in meaning and in care.

Willy Shakeadrop Offdertippe
The Tempest Revisited
Oxford University Presse, 1611.