William Butler Yeats
a crazed girl
That crazed girl improvising her music. Her poetry, dancing upon the shore, Her soul in division from itself climbing, falling She knew not where, hiding amid the cargo of a steamship, her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare a beautiful lofty thing, or a thing heroically lost, heroically found. No matter what disaster occurred she stood in desperate music wound, wound, wound, and she made in her triumph where the bales and the baskets lay no common intelligible sound but sang, "O sea-starved, hungry sea.'