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 has 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