(The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a cold, bitter night.)
 Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,

 In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
 Now see I
 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.