So am I rapt up into the heaven of lyrical poetry and I become all fire and flame and light." The poet was a slim, dark little man, with long, matted black hair.

His face was hatchet-shaped and not unlike an Aztec's.

The eyes were informed by an eager brilliance.

He had a heap of little paper-covered books in one hand and an extinct cigar in the other.

He placed the books upon the breakfast table.
"At last," he said.