They float before my soul, the fair designs Which I would body forth to life and power, Like clouds that with their wavering hues and lines Portray majestic building--dome and tower, Bright spire, that through the rainbow and the shower Points to the unchanging stars; and high arcade, Far-sweeping to some glorious altar made For holiest rites. Meanwhile the waning hour Melts from me, and by fervent dreams overwrought I sink. O friend! O linked with each high thought! Aid me, of those rich visions to detain All I may grasp; until thou seest fulfilled, While time and strength allow, my hope to build For lowly hearts devout, but one enduring fane!