FANCY.
This is the very coinage of your brain:
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.
When I could not sleep for cold
I had fire enough in my brain,
And builded with roofs of gold
My beautiful castles in Spain!
Aladdin. J.R. LOWELL.
Egeria! sweet creation of some heart
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair
As thine ideal breast; whate'er thou art
Or wert,—a young Aurora of the air,
The nympholepsy of some fond despair;
Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth,
Who found a more than common votary there
Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.
Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatched away.
Eloise to Abélard. A. POPE.
We figure to ourselves
The thing we like, and then we build it up
As chance will have it, on the rock or sand:
For Thought is tired of wandering o'er the world,
And homebound Fancy runs her bark ashore.
Philip Van Artevelde, Pt. I. Act i. Sc. 5. SIR H. TAYLOR.