He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

By W.B. Yeats

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,      
Enwrought with golden and silver light,     
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths    
Of night and light and the half-light,      
I would spread the cloths under your feet:  
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;     
I have spread my dreams under your feet;    
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

What's interesting about this one is that technically it doesn't rhyme.
  I love the last two lines.