Can all that optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so,
As when I dreamt of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow? When Science from Creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws,
What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws! And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.

Theodric : A Domestic Tale; and Other Poems (1825) - To the Rainbow