The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper. - William Butler Yeats

Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

You say, as I have often given tongue
In praise of what another's said or sung,
'Twere politic to do the like by these;
But was there ever a dog that praised his fleas?

I went out to the hazel wood
because a fire was in my head
cut and peeled a hazel wand
and hooked a berry to a thread
and when white moths were on the wing
and moth-like stars were flickering out
I dropped the berry in a stream,
and caught a little silver trout....

(Song of Wandering Aengus)