To whom I owe the leaping delightThat quickens my senses in our waking-timeAnd the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleeping-time,the breathing in unison.
Of lovers whose bodies smell of each otherWho think the same thoughts without need of speech,And babble the same speech without need of meaning…
No peevish winter wind shall chillNo sullen tropic sun shall witherThe roses in the rose-garden which is ours and ours only
But this dedication is for others to read:These are private words addressed to you in public.
- T.S. Eliot