One of those passing rainbow dreams, Half light, half shade, which fancy's beams Paint on the fleeting mists that roll, In trance or slumber, round the soul!
Age cannot Love destroy, But perfidy can blast the flower, Even when in most unwary hour It blooms in fancy's bower. Age cannot Love destroy, But perfidy can rend the shrine In which its vermeil splendours shine.Percy Bysshe Shelley
Soon round us spread the hills and dales,Where GEOFFREY spun his magic tales,And call'd them history. The landWhence ARTHUR sprung, and all his bandOf gallant knights. Sire of romance,Who led the fancy's mazy dance,Thy tales shall please, thy name still be,When Time forgets my verse and me.robert bloomfield
Misled by fancy's meteor ray,By passion driven;But yet the light that led astrayWas light from heaven.Robert Burns
Man is of soul and body, formed for deeds Of high resolve; on fancy's boldest wing.Percy Bysshe Shelley
The difference is as great between The optics seeing as the objects seen. All manners take a tincture from our own; Or come discolor'd through our passions shown; Or fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies, Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.Alexander Pope
That period was a very dreamland of culture. Under enlightened caliphs, the Arabs in Spain developed a civilization which, during the whole of the middle ages up to the Renaissance, exercised pregnant influence upon every department of human knowledge. (...) Yet this Spanish-Arabic period bequeathed to us such magnificent tokens of architectural skill, of scientific research, and of philosophic thought, that far from regarding it as a fancy's dream, we know it to be one of the corner-stone of civilization.
None but an author knows an author's cares, Or fancy's fondness for the child she bears.william cowper
And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.john milton