Definition of "wisp"

in a small basket, on a wisp of hay

1693, Decimus Junius Juvenalis, John Dryden, transl., “[The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis.] The Third Satyr”, in The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis. Translated into English Verse. […] Together with the Satires of Aulus Persius Flaccus. […], London: Printed for Jacob Tonson […]

the wisp that flickers where no foot can tread

1847, Alfred Tennyson, “(please specify the page number, or |part=Prologue, I to VII, or conclusion)”, in The Princess: A Medley, London: Edward Moxon, […]

Another traditional answer to the question of what makes us so different, popular for millennia, has been that humans have a non-physical soul, one that inhabits the body but is distinct from it, an ethereal ghostly wisp that floats free at death to enjoy an after-life which may include reunion with other souls, or perhaps a new body to inhabit.

2017 September 10, Nigel Warburton, “What does a portrait of Erica the android tell us about being human?”, in The Observer‎

They shift their quarters in the early part of the season very suddenly, and if a man hears of a wisp of snipe in any particular place, he must be off at once.

1861, Horace William Wheelwright, Bush Wanderings of a Naturalist, page 99

A flock of snipe is given the collective name of a "wisp", perhaps due to its rapid twisting and turning before the birds drop down again.

1988, Michael Cady, Rob Hume, editors, The Complete Book of British Birds, page 158

The very same head of hair, wisp'd, and matted together, would make the most disagreeable figure.

1753, William Hogarth, The Analysis of Beauty

To Temple, sitting in the cottonseed-hulls and the corn-cobs, the sound was no louder than the striking of a match: a short, minor sound shutting down the scene, the instant, with a profound finality, completely isolating it, and she sat there, her legs straight before her, her hands limp and palm-up on her lap, looking at Popeye's tight back and the ridges of his coat across his shoulders as he leaned out the door, the pistol behind him, against his flank, wisping thinly along his leg.

1931, William Faulkner, Sanctuary, Library of America, published 1985, page 70

It looked warm and rosy-bright inside, with a little chimney wisping smoke, little windows glowing.

2011, Iain Lawrence, The Winter Pony, page 219