Ideas

Shapes alternate pages on mortal fields; 

Playing pirns on alternate wight illusions,

Down minds thick throngs. 

Days weave time by yeld-hooks,

Rich luminous wefts cleave the fine webs,

Upon mortals tissues, textures, and tessitura;

Wambly doubts are solar kissed,

To brighten new loops for the living, 

To count spaces and stages in sums of spirits of ideas.