I must make sure my book does not lack the language gouged from the mouth and heaped on the subject, tongue sprung and magnificent. Mine — my book — can hold torrents.
“Heart mine, art mine, whose embraces
Clasp but wind that past thee bloweth
E’en this air so subtly gloweth,
Guerdoned by thy sun-gold traces,
That my heart is half afraid
For the fragrance on him laid;
Even so love’s might amazes!”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: To Be Sung Beneath a Window”