The patrimonies of poets

Humbert brings up poets again: 'the gentle and dreamy regions through which I crept were the patrimonies of poets. [...] Had I reached my goal, my ecstasy would have been all softness'

How implausible this sounds to a modern ear. Who thinks of ecstasies and nebulous desires in 2014? Surely we think of climaxes, lubricantes, and gametes?

A Romantic framing of his attraction seems at best dated, at worst an attempt by Humbert to mislead, to shroud his twitching cock with a perfumed craveat.

He goes on to say that these regions were 'not crime's prowling ground'. Except of course, that's exactly what they are and in his actions is is exactly what Charlotte accused him of being before she died: 'a criminal fraud.'