I can't tell you where a poem comes from, what it is, or what it is for: nor can any other man. The reason I can't tell you is that the purpose of a poem is to go past telling, to be recognised by burning.
“But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath can send, Save me, oh, save me, from the candid friend!”
“The dynamic, creative present, however conditioned and restricted by the effects of prior presents, possesses genuine initiative.”