“The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom. The figure is the same as for love. No one can really hold that the ecstasy should be static and stand still in one place.
It begins in delight, it inclines to the impulse, it assumes direction with the first line laid down, it runs a course of lucky event, and ends in a clarification of life — not necessarily a great clarification, such as sects and cults are founded on, but in a momentary stay against confusion. It has denouement.”
— Robert Frost