It is the nature of the Life of Dream,
To make all action of our mental springs,
Howe’er unnatural, discrepant and strange,
Be as the unfolding of most usual things;
And thus to me no wonder did there seem,
When by a subtle change,
The heavy ample hyblus-wingèd boat
In which I lay afloat,
Became a deft canoe, light-wove
Of painted bark, gay-set with lustrous shells,