''which shall be the formula of that particular emotion'' 

                                   "Son of man,     
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only	 
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,	 
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,	 
And the dry stone no sound of water." 

"O City City, I can sometimes hear	 
 Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,     
 The pleasant whining of a mandoline	 
 And a clatter and a chatter from within	 
 Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls	 
 Of Magnus Martyr hold	 
 Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold."    

This elephant bounces quite gracefully, Peter.
And it takes off too!