Gathering round with wings all hoar
Throught the dewy mist they soar
like gray shades,till the eastern heaven
Bursts,and then,-as clouds of even
Fleck'd with fire azure, lie
in the unfathomable sky, -
So their plumes of purple grain
Starr'd with drops of golden rain
Gleam above the sunlight woods,
As in silent multitudes
On the morning's fitful gale
Throught the broken mist they sail;
And the vapours cloven and gleaming
Follow down the dark steep streaming
Til all is bright, and clear, and still
Round te solitairy hill

-- P B Shelly