My thoughts Grew dull, my eyelids slowly closed, the scene Became confused and melted into sleep. And far up in the blue, as yet untouched By clouds, I saw a white descending speck. Methought ’twas but a feather from the breast Of some migrating swan, that Earthward fell, And watched to see it caught upon the wind, And sail a tiny kite to fairy land. But circling down, the speck became a dove, A heron, then a swan, and larger still, Till I could mark a pair of great white wings, Between which hung its wondrous form. Still down It swept, till scarce above the trees it stood, Resting on quivering wings, as if it sought A place to ’light. I saw then what it was, A steed of matchless beauty, agile grace, Combined with muscled strength; but ere I drew The first long breath, that follows such surprise It gently downward swooped, and at my feet, With dainty hoof, the turf impatient pawed. Enrapt, I gazed upon its beauteous form, Its sculptured head, and countenance benign, The soft sad eyes, the arrow-pointed ears, The scarlet nostrils opening like two flowers, The sinewed neck, curved like a swimming swan’s, The splendid mane, a cataract of milk, That poured its foaming torrents half to Earth, The tap’ring limbs, tipped with pink-hued hoofs, That touched our soil with a proud disdain; The dazzling satin coat, and netting veins, And last the glorious wings, whose feathers lapped Like scales of creamy gold. What seemed a cloth Of woven snow, with richest silver fringe, Draped with its gorgeous folds the shining flanks.