"...Whistlings of death and circles of muffled music make this adored body rise, swell and tremble like a ghost; scarlet and black wounds open in the magnificent flesh. The actual colors of life darken, dance, and emerge around the Vision as it takes shape. And shudders arise and rumble, and the frenetic taste of these effects weighted down with the mortal whistling and raucous music that the world, far behind us, hurls at our mother of beauty, -----she backs off, she stands up. Oh! Our bones are clad with a new loving body...."
Arthur Rimbaud - Beauteous Being - Illuminations - translation by John Ashbery