rhetoric is will doing the work of imagination.

A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.

While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is the exultation of love.

Imagining in excited reverie That the future years had come, Dancing to a frenzied drum, Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.

Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.

Grant me an old man's frenzy, Myself must I remake Till I am Timon and Lear Or that William Blake Who beat upon the wall Till Truth obeyed his call.

There is no deformity But saves us from a dream.