Poetry is the revelation of a feeling that the poet believes to be interior and personal which the reader recognizes as his own.
Fairy Land iv
by William Shakespeare
WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily:
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.