Classic Poem

Break, Fant'sy, from thy cave of cloud
And spread thy purple wings;
Now all thy figures are allowed,
And various shapes of things;
Create of airy forms a stream;
It must have blood and nought of phlegm,
And though it be a waking dream,
Yet let it like an odour rise
To all the senses here,
And fall like sleep upon their eyes,
Or music in their ear.
(from The Vision of Delight)