V

Flame that ejects its golden beams Sups up the grosser air; To seas that pour out their streams In springs, those streams repair; Receiv'd ideas make even dreams. No fancy painteth foul or fair But by the ministry of inward light, That in the spirits cherisheth its sight. The moon returneth light, and some men say The very sun no ray Nor influence could have, did it No foreign aids, no food admit. The earth no exhalations would afford, Were not its spirits by the sun restored.