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