http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive/1666/11/15/

This [morning] come Mr. Shepley (newly out of the country) to see me; after a little discourse with him, I to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon home, and there dined, Shepley with me, and after dinner I did pay him 70l., which he had paid my father for my use in the country. He being gone, I took coach and to Mrs. Pierce's, where I find her as fine as possible, and himself going to the ball at night at Court, it being the Queen's birth-day, and so I carried them in my coach, and having set them into the house, and gotten Mr. Pierce to undertake the carrying in my wife, I to Unthanke's, where she appointed to be, and there told her, and back again about business to White Hall, while Pierce went and fetched her and carried her in. I, after I had met with Sir W. Coventry and given him some account of matters, I also to the ball, and with much ado got up to the loft, where with much trouble I could see very well. Anon the house grew full, and the candles light, and the King and Queen and all the ladies set: and it was, indeed, a glorious sight to see Mrs. Stewart in black and white lace, and her head and shoulders dressed with dyamonds, and the like a great many great ladies more, only the Queen none; and the King in his rich vest of some rich silke and silver trimming, as the Duke of York and all the dancers were, some of cloth of silver, and others of other sorts, exceeding rich. Presently after the King was come in, he took the Queene, and about fourteen more couple there was, and began the Bransles. --[Brawl--a dance D.W.]-- As many of the men as I can remember presently, were, the King, Duke of York, Prince Rupert, Duke of Monmouth, Duke of Buckingham, Lord Douglas, Mr. [George] Hamilton, Colonell Russell, Mr. Griffith, Lord Ossory, Lord Rochester; and of the ladies, the Queene, Duchess of York, Mrs. Stewart, Duchess of Monmouth, Lady Essex Howard, Mrs. Temples Swedes Embassadress, Lady Arlington; Lord George Barkeley's daughter, and many others I remember not; but all most excellently dressed in rich petticoats and gowns, and dyamonds, and pearls. After the Bransles, then to a Corant, and now and then a French dance; but that so rare that the Corants grew tiresome, that I wished it done. Only Mrs. Stewart danced mighty finely, and many French dances, specially one the King called the New Dance, which was very pretty; but upon the whole matter, the business of the dancing of itself was not extraordinary pleasing. But the clothes and sight of the persons was indeed very pleasing, and worth my coming, being never likely to see more gallantry while I live, if I should come twenty times. About twelve at night it broke up, and I to hire a coach with much difficulty, but Pierce had hired a chair for my wife, and so she being gone to his house, he and I, taking up Barker at Unthanke's, to his house, whither his wife was come home a good while ago and gone to bed. So away home with my wife, between displeased with the dull dancing, and satisfied at the clothes and persons. My Lady Castlemayne, without whom all is nothing, being there, very rich, though not dancing. And so after supper, it being very cold, to bed.

Dry summer and the upper field quiet at noon.
Spring’s green pirouette tangled in barbed wire,
Its promise snapped like matchsticks, burnt-orange
Pine needles cracking loose from stiff joints,
                                                        Silence dropped so low 
It rings like a bell’s soft echo.

Here once was a boy running with a black and white half shepherd dog,
Hair summer-blonde, hands darkened to rust by wet clay
                                                                   Rummaged for arrowheads.

No fear then but the darting tongues of timber snakes:

That certainty lost to whatever passes for time,
                                              The ground skipped beneath his feet.

                           *                              *                               *

Once I stood here through a mid-day snowfall, sky staring and nearly dark,
            Watching my shoes sink in the white sheets,
Petals of frozen clouds feathering down through my eyelashes.
            Home from college, free of abnormal psychology
And media arts, endless boredoms that passed for a life of the mind.

Not a sound that whole afternoon, nothing more alive than my breath,
            Silence in the snowy field, the heavy trees,
Known in sense but not by name, nothing really known by name. 

(  ...  )

-The Anthologist, Pg. 127, Nicholson Baker