Cloud-built, and white, and interspaced with blue,
Above the green earth’s fields that I did pass,
Bearing ungathered harvests in their grass
Of star-bright flowers, and every magic hue
Born of the hours, and of the kindling zone
Sun-cast o’er wandering mead and upland lone,
That now on every hand mine eyes did fill,
As went the wheel whirl’d with the fiery will.
And always, as the changeful landscape spread