I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul’s history
Through the corridors of light where the hours are suns,
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the spirit clothed from head to foot in song,
And who hoarded from spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.

- Stephen Spender