Myriads and myriads plumed their glittering wings,
As fine as any bird that soars and sings,
As bright as fireflies or the dragon-flies
Or birds of paradise.

Myriads and myriads waved their sheeny fans,
Soft as the dove's breast, or the pelican's;
And some were gold, and some were green, and some
Pink-lipped, like apple-bloom.

A low wind tossed the plumage all one way,
Rippled the gold feathers, and green and gray—
A low wind that in moving sang one song
All day and all night long.

Some trees hung lanterns out, and some had stars
Silver as Hesper, and rose-red as Mars;
A low wind flung the lanterns low and high—
A low wind like a sigh.
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