FOURTH SPIRIT
  On a poet's lips I slept
  Dreaming like a love-adept
  In the sound his breathing kept;
  Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses,
  But feeds on the aërial kisses
  Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses.
  He will watch from dawn to gloom
  The lake-reflected sun illume
  The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom,
  Nor heed nor see, what things they be;
  But from these create he can
  Forms more real than living man,
  Nurslings of immortality!
  One of these awakened me,
  And I sped to succor thee.

IONE
  Behold'st thou not two shapes from the east and west
  Come, as two doves to one belovèd nest,
  Twin nurslings of the all-sustaining air,
  On swift still wings glide down the atmosphere?
  And, hark! their sweet, sad voices! 'tis despair
  Mingled with love and then dissolved in sound.