The sensitive plant

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Like fire in the flowers till the sun rides high,

Then wander like spirits among the spheres,

Each cloud faint with the fragrance it bears;

XXIII

The quivering vapours of dim noontide,

Which like a sea o’er the warm earth glide,

In which every sound, and odour, and beam,

Move, as reeds in a single stream;