Hail, many-colored messenger, that ne'er
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter;
Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers
Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers;
And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown
My bosky acres, and my unshrubb'd down,
Rich scarf to my proud earth.
SHAKS.: _Tempest,_ Act iv., Sc. 1.
That gracious thing made up of tears and light.
COLERIDGE: _Two Founts,_ St. 5.
The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose.
WORDSWORTH: _Intimations of Immortality,_ St. 2.
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.
Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
KEATS: _Lamia,_ Pt. ii.