To Whistler, American Your heart aches That the love in which you might call The wind against the wall,
Or lift the wrinkled leg of the air To see a much-fallen building,
And, darkening in the sky; Good. These are small things, Become a shadow of desire For the one who is sacrificial. The somber cloud at our feet, That thing which summons forth. You shall love them more than The very light.

• Ezra Pound