Clouds...

In spots like these the shepherd loves to fling
His careless limbs neath the young leaves of spring
To muse upon some wild brooks hasty streams
& idly revel over waking dreams

Or stretched in carless mood upon his back
To view the blue sky & its sweeping rack
Lifting his fancies to each passing cloud
& shaping every one that journeys proud

Oer its mysterious way to forms & things
That fancys visions to his memory brings
Some like to rocks gleam in their wondering eye

Mid shoreless seas & some go swifter bye

Like mighty ships still charging on their way

To other ships more beautiful than they

Soft as the paper ships they often make

& float on curdling brook or meadow lake

Some white like palaces of marble seems

The towers of heaven which they’re called in dreams

& which his waking fancys grandly shine

The abodes of one that instant suns divine

Some like to mountains shadow high & some

Like the dear vales that nestle round their home

With cots & groves & fountains streaming bye

Spread lengthening seems to the musing eye

& thus they dream away their idle hours

Stretched on the trembling grass & nodding flowers

& wishing often on their summer beds

For the larks wings that whistles oer their heads

To realize their artless dreams & flye

To the soft bosom of the summer sky

To trace the seeming vales and mountains there

That hopeless distance personifys so fair

Each flower agen smiles thro the aching dew

Like lovly absent faces seen anew

Rich with the same purfumes & luscious smiles

They wake agen ones leisure to beguile

Like an old tale of pleasure told again

After long years of desolating pain

Pet MS A21 p6

(one of the alternative readings of 'Spring' from Midsummer Cushion - there are quite a few)