Scriabin’s last two orchestral works were the products of a virtual delirium of composing. Simultaneously refining his poem called Poem of Ecstasy andcompleting the symphony that grew out of it (and shared its name), Scriabin never forgot the rapture ofcomposing this work about creation and self-fulfilment: “I gasp for breath, but oh, what bliss! The very meter kindles the meaning…”