Imagery is the very breath of the poem. The fantasy shown here is also the dream beauty, the kind that many want to possess, yet fail. It can only be imagined, never realised.
“I held on to her hand
But she slipped away”

Ideal beauty exists in illusion.
Verbs like wander, float and fly show that she belongs nowhere except in the dreamscape.
Unbelievable, yet the poet is made to suspend disbelief.
Like Keats’s “La Belle” she favours none.

Flows well with colourful imagery.

Write on!



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