Cloud-made mountains towered
Beckoning to me;
Visionary triremes
Talked about the sea.
There were strings of camels
On the Tunis sands.
There were certain cities
Holding out their hands.
Here the thing we call poetry asserts itself. The instinct for remarkable phrase and striking figurative expression is either inborn or it is not. Facility with rhyme and metre is not nearly so remarkable. But when a child can write, as in the poem My Husbands,
I hear in soft recession