Were I a cloud I'd gather My skirts up in the air, And fly I well know whither, And rest I well know where. - Robert Bridges

They gathered up the crystal manna to freeze
Their tongues with tasting, their hands with snowballing;
Or rioted in a drift, plunging up to the knees.

Behind the western bars
The shrouded day retreats,
And unperceived the stars
Steal to their sovran seats. And whiter grows the foam,
The small moon lightens more;
And as I turn me home,
My shadow walks before.

Beauty is the highest of all these occult influences,
the quality of appearances that thru' the sense
wakeneth spiritual emotion in the mind of man.