He wishes for the cloths of heaven

Writing yesterday about the ludicrously opaque rhyming scheme of the Prologue to Dylan Thomas' Collected Poems has reminded me of its antithesis in a poem by WB 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.

You can't really get any simpler than rhyming cloths with cloths, light with light, feet with feet and dreams with dreams; yet it remains a transcendent verse.