There is nothing staid, nothing settled, in this universe. All is rippling, all is dancing; all is quickness and triumph.

“Do you remember the lake?' she said, in an abrupt voice, under the pressure of …”

“I ask now, standing with my scissors among my flowers, Where can the shadow ent…”

“Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?”

“...but after reading a chapter or two a shadow seemed to lie across the page. I…”