by T.S. Eliot

“Be to whom each owes the leaping delight
That quickens the senses in your waking time
And the rhythm that governs the repose of sleeping time,
The breathing in unison

Of lives whose bodies smell of each other
Who think the same thoughts without need of speech
And babble the same speech without the need of meaning

No peevish winter wind shall chill
No sullen tropic sun shall wither
The roses in the rose-garden which is yours and yours only.”