Sweet are the thoughts that haunt the poet?s brain 
Like rainbow-fringed clouds, through which some star 
Peeps in bright glory on a shepherd swain; 
They sweep along and trance him; sweeter far 
Than incense trailing up an out-stretched chain 
From rocking censer; sweeter too they are 
Than the thin mist which rises in the gale 
From out the slender cowslip?s bee-scarred breast. 
Their delicate pinions buoy up a tale 
Like brittle wings, which curtain in the vest 
Of cobweb-limbed ephemera, that sail 
In gauzy mantle of dun twilight dressed, 
Borne on the wind?s soft sighings, when the spring 
Listens all evening to its whispering.