All my music is in the first place a matter of feeling and instinct. Do not ask me why I have written thus and not otherwise. I can give only one answer to this: I wrote the way I felt.
“The light became her grace and dwelt among
Blind eyes and shadows that are formed as men
Lo, how the light doth melt us into song:
The broken sunlight for a healm she beareth
Who hath my heart in jurisdiction.
In wild-wood never fawn nor fallow fareth
So silent light; no gossamer is spun
So delicate as she is, when the sun
Drives the clear emeralds from the bended grasses
Lest they should parch too swiftly, where she passes.”
Ezra Pound | “Ballatetta”