the attention wanders; one's wits gone a woolgathering, one's wits gone a bird's nesting; it never entered into one's head; the mind running on other things; one's thoughts being elsewhere; had it been a bear it would have bitten you.

Or Lyster, doubly dandyfied, Fidgets his donkey by my side; Or Bulwer rambles back from Greece, Woolgathering from the Golden fleece Or forty volumes, piping hot, Come blazing from volcano Scott; When pens like their's play all my game.