''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!