as other critics have done, the extraordinary succession of images by
which Shelley strives to portray the spirit of the skylark. The similes
actually chosen by Shelley seem to have been merely the lucky candidates
selected from an infinitely greater number. In Francis Thompson's
captivating description of Shelley as a glorious child the reader is
conscious of the same initial rush of images, although the medium of
expression here is heightened prose instead of verse:
[Footnote: _Dublin Review_, July, 1908.]

"Coming to Shelley's poetry, we peep over the wild mask of
revolutionary metaphysics, and we see the winsome face of the child.
Perhaps none of his poems is more purely and typically Shelleian than
The Cloud, and it is interesting to note how essentially it springs
from the faculty of make-believe. The same thing is conspicuous,
though less purely conspicuous, throughout his singing; it is the
child's faculty of make-believe raised to the nth power. He is still
at play, save only that his play is such as manhood stops to watch,
and his playthings are those which the gods give their children. The
universe is his box of toys. He dabbles his fingers in the day-fall.
He is gold-dusty with tumbling amidst the stars. He makes bright
mischief with the moon. The meteors nuzzle their noses in his hand.
He teases into growling the kennelled thunder, and laughs at the
shaking of its fiery chain. He dances in and out of the gates of
heaven: its floor is littered with his broken fancies. He runs wild
over the fields of ether. He chases the rolling world. He gets
between the feet of the horses of the sun. He stands in the lap of
patient Nature, and twines her loosened tresses after a hundred
wilful fashions, to see how she will look nicest in his song."