from "The Castle of Indolence" by James Thomson (1700-1748)
(lines 505-531)

   Of all the gentle tenants of the place,
   There was a man of special grave remark;
   A certain tender gloom o'erspread his face,
   Pensive, not sad; in thought involved, not dark;
   As soote this man could sing as morning lark,
   And teach the noblest morals of the heart;
   But these his talents were yburied stark:
   Of the fine stores he nothing would impart,
Which or boon Nature gave, or nature-painting Art.

   To noon tide shades incontinent he ran,
   Where purls the brook with sleep-inviting sound,
   Or when Dan Sol to slope his wheels began,
   Amid the broom he basked him on the ground,
   Where the wild thyme and camomil are found;
   There would he linger, till the latest ray
   Of light sate trembling on the welkin's bound,
   Then homeward through the twilight shadows stray,
Sauntering and slow: so had he passed many a day.

   Yet not in thoughtless slumber were they passed;
   For oft the heavenly fire, that lay concealed
   Beneath the sleeping embers, mounted fast,
   And all its native light anew revealed;
   Oft as he traversed the cerulean field,
   And marked the clouds that drove before the wind,
   Ten thousand glorious systems would he build,
   The thousand great ideas filled his mind:
But with the clouds they fled, and left no trace behind.