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.<br /><br />Thomas Lovell Beddoes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thoughts-4/
