From *Pale Fire* by Vladimir Nabokov, Canto One, First Stanza

This is the opening stanza of Vladimir Nabokov's unique and lovely (and chimerical) book, _Pale Fire_. I have always found this opening stanza, most particularly the first two lines, to be very beautiful and captivating.
The picture of the man is a picture of Nabokov; the picture of a bird is of a waxwing.
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff-and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
And from the inside, too, I'd duplicate
Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate:
Uncurtaining the night, I'd let dark glass
Hang all the furniture above the grass,
And how delightful when a fall of snow
Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so
As to make chair and bed exactly stand
Upon that snow, out in that crystal land!

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beautiful. the beauty beyond reach, the artifice, the memory, in many ways, Nabokov's essence and the essence of his work contained in this stanza

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