(The Fantasia of a Fallen Gentleman on a Cold, Bitter Night)
Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy.
In a flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
Now I see
That warmth’s the very stuff of poesy.
Oh, God, make small
The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,
That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.
by T. E. Hulme (16 September 1883 – 28 September 1917)