There are quantities of things

One would like to be and do

When one's mind unfurls its wings;

Clouds full chase across the blue

All unthinking in their flight;

Overcasting me and you,

Sometimes raining out of spite.

Or perhaps you would prefer

To go coasting through the night

With a flutter and a stir,

Like a nightjar in a wood

Rising softly with a whirr.

Or with cold and scanty blood

Don a fish's suit of scales,

And go oaring through the flood

Under bigger fishes' tails,

Into warm and open sea

While above you blow the gales—

So my mind spins constantly

In unprofitable rings

Almost to infinity—

Such innumerable things

One would like to do and be

When one's thoughts shake out their wings.