What joy to watch thee as thy wings with zest
Bear tremulous Dawn along the gladsome height,
Or when with languid beat they shed their light
Of paling crimson on the saddened West;
To see thee flitting, as a seraph blest,
Through dale and wood the meanest to bedight,
O'er pools deep-bosomed brooding, and with Night
Lying mid splendors of her vasty breast!
The canvas throbs beneath thy deathless art,
While at thy word the Sculptor newly wakes
To sudden life the eon-slumbering stone;
ANd when thou leadest to the Poet's heart
Thy flock of airy dreams, he raptured makes
The song all ages cherish as their own.