And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams

Call to the soul when man doth sleep,

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,

And into glory peep.

Henry Vaughan (1621-1695): They are all gone.

Unto dying eyes

The casement slowly grows a glimmering square.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): The Princess. Part iv. Line 33.

Oh, rather give me commentators plain,

Who with no deep researches vex the brain;

Who from the dark and doubtful love to run,

And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun.

George Crabbe (1754-1832): The Parish Register. Part i. Introduction.

Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 2.