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Sonnet

      ... "_gives to airy nothing
      A local habitation and a name_."
  Though narrow be that Old Man's cares, and near
  The poor Old Man is greater than he seems:
  For he hath waking empire, wide as dreams;
  An ample sovereignty of eye and ear.
  Rich are his walks with supernatural chear;
  The region of his inner spirit teems
  With vital sounds, and monitory gleams
  Of high astonishment and pleasing fear.
  He the seven birds hath seen that never part,
  Seen the SEVEN WHISTLERS in their nightly rounds,
  And counted them: and oftentimes will start--
  For overhead are sweeping GABRIEL'S HOUNDS,
  Doom'd, with their impious Lord, the flying Hart
  To chase for ever, on aerial grounds.

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