''he had crowded the city so full
that men could not grasp beauty,
beauty was over them,
through them, about them,
no crevice unpacked with honey,
rare, measureless.''
H.D. (1886-1961), U.S. poet and fiction writer. "Cities," lines 30-35 (1916).
"He" is "the maker of cities."
I should have thought in a dream you would have brought some lovely, perilous thing, orchids piled in a great sheath, as who would say (in a dream), "I send you this, who left the blue veins of your throat unkissed."