A speech is poetry: cadence, rhythm, imagery, sweep†and reminds us that words, like children, have the power to make dance the dullest beanbag of a heart.

-Noonan, Peggy
  What I Saw at the Revolution.

His iron coat all overgrown with rust, Was underneath envelope'  d with gold, Whose glistering gloss darkened with filthy dust, Well yet appeare'  d, to have been of old A work of rich entail, and curious mold, Woven with antics and wild imagery.

-Spenser, Edmund
  Of Mammon.The Faerie Queen, bk.2, canto 7, stanza 4.