Oh... alright... [he thinks accordingly, then raises a hand and murmurs:]

Moreover, through the dancing poppies stole
A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul;
And shaping visions all about my sight
Of colours, wings, and bursts of spangly light.

[the wind quiets gradually until it is just a small breeze, swirling here and there, odd little lights wink in the room like fireflies or tiny jewels catching the sun]

Did I do that? [he regards his hand, astonished]