I do not draw or crib from outer life, but sometimes I get the feeling I might be trespassing on some inner one of my own.
“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”