whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!
Shelley copy
.
.
made
A feeling in the . . . which was a shade
Of gentle beauty on the flowers: there lay _45
All gems that make the earth's dark bosom gay.
. . . rods of myrtle-buds and lemon-blooms,
And that leaf tinted lightly which assumes
The livery of unremembered snow--
Violets whose eyes have drunk-- _50
. . .
Fiordispina and her nurse are now
Upon the steps of the high portico,
Under the withered arm of Media
She flings her glowing arm
. . .
. . . step by step and stair by stair, _55
That withered woman, gray and white and brown--
More like a trunk by lichens overgrown
Than anything which once could have been human.
And ever as she goes the palsied woman
. . .
'How slow and painfully you seem to walk, _60
Poor Media! you tire yourself with talk. '
'And well it may,
Fiordispina, dearest--well-a-day!
You are hastening to a marriage-bed;
I to the grave! '--'And if my love were dead, _65
Unless my heart deceives me, I would lie
Beside him in my shroud as willingly
As now in the gay night-dress Lilla wrought. '
'Fie, child! Let that unseasonable thought
Not be remembered till it snows in June; _70
Such fancies are a music out of tune
With the sweet dance your heart must keep to-night.
What! would you take all beauty and delight
Back to the Paradise from which you sprung,
And leave to grosser mortals? -- _75
And say, sweet lamb, would you not learn the sweet
And subtle mystery by which spirits meet?
Who knows whether the loving game is played,
When, once of mortal [vesture] disarrayed,
The naked soul goes wandering here and there _80
Through the wide deserts of Elysian air?
The violet dies not till it'--
NOTES:
_11 to 1824; two editions 1839.
_20 e'er 1862; ever editions 1824, 1839.
_25 sea edition 1862; sense editions 1824, 1839.
***
TIME LONG PAST.
[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870.
This is one of three poems (cf. "Love's Philosophy" and "Good-Night")
transcribed by Shelley in a copy of Leigh Hunt's "Literary Pocket-Book"
for 1819 presented by him to Miss Sophia Stacey, December 29, 1820. ]
1.
Like the ghost of a dear friend dead
Is Time long past.
A tone which is now forever fled,
A hope which is now forever past,
A love so sweet it could not last, _5
Was Time long past.
2.
There were sweet dreams in the night
Of Time long past:
And, was it sadness or delight,
Each day a shadow onward cast _10
Which made us wish it yet might last--
That Time long past.
3.
There is regret, almost remorse,
For Time long past.
'Tis like a child's beloved corse _15
A father watches, till at last
Beauty is like remembrance, cast
From Time long past.
***
FRAGMENT: THE DESERTS OF DIM SLEEP.
[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]
I went into the deserts of dim sleep--
That world which, like an unknown wilderness,
Bounds this with its recesses wide and deep--
***
FRAGMENT: 'THE VIEWLESS AND INVISIBLE CONSEQUENCE'.
[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]
The viewless and invisible Consequence
Watches thy goings-out, and comings-in,
And. . . hovers o'er thy guilty sleep,
Unveiling every new-born deed, and thoughts
More ghastly than those deeds-- _5
***
FRAGMENT: A SERPENT-FACE.
[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]
His face was like a snake's--wrinkled and loose
And withered--
***
FRAGMENT: DEATH IN LIFE.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]
My head is heavy, my limbs are weary,
And it is not life that makes me move.
***
FRAGMENT: 'SUCH HOPE, AS IS THE SICK DESPAIR OF GOOD'.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]
Such hope, as is the sick despair of good,
Such fear, as is the certainty of ill,
Such doubt, as is pale Expectation's food
Turned while she tastes to poison, when the will
Is powerless, and the spirit. . . _5
***
FRAGMENT: 'ALAS! THIS IS NOT WHAT I THOUGHT LIFE WAS'.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. This
fragment is joined by Forman with that immediately preceding. ]
Alas! this is not what I thought life was.
I knew that there were crimes and evil men,
Misery and hate; nor did I hope to pass
Untouched by suffering, through the rugged glen.
In mine own heart I saw as in a glass _5
The hearts of others . . . And when
I went among my kind, with triple brass
Of calm endurance my weak breast I armed,
To bear scorn, fear, and hate, a woful mass!
***
FRAGMENT: MILTON'S SPIRIT.
[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]
I dreamed that Milton's spirit rose, and took
From life's green tree his Uranian lute;
And from his touch sweet thunder flowed, and shook
All human things built in contempt of man,--
And sanguine thrones and impious altars quaked, _5
Prisons and citadels. . .
NOTE:
_2 lute Uranian cj. A. C. Bradley.
***
FRAGMENT: 'UNRISEN SPLENDOUR OF THE BRIGHTEST SUN'.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]
Unrisen splendour of the brightest sun,
To rise upon our darkness, if the star
Now beckoning thee out of thy misty throne
Could thaw the clouds which wage an obscure war
With thy young brightness! _5
***
FRAGMENT: PATER OMNIPOTENS.
[Edited from manuscript Shelley E 4 in the Bodleian Library, and
published by Mr. C. D. Locock, "Examination" etc. , Oxford, Clarendon
Press, 1903. Here placed conjecturally amongst the compositions of
1820, but of uncertain date, and belonging possibly to 1819 or a still
earlier year. ]
Serene in his unconquerable might
Endued[,] the Almighty King, his steadfast throne
Encompassed unapproachably with power
And darkness and deep solitude an awe
Stood like a black cloud on some aery cliff _5
Embosoming its lightning--in his sight
Unnumbered glorious spirits trembling stood
Like slaves before their Lord--prostrate around
Heaven's multitudes hymned everlasting praise.
***
FRAGMENT: TO THE MIND OF MAN.
[Edited, published and here placed as the preceding. ]
Thou living light that in thy rainbow hues
Clothest this naked world; and over Sea
And Earth and air, and all the shapes that be
In peopled darkness of this wondrous world
The Spirit of thy glory dost diffuse _5
. . . truth . . . thou Vital Flame
Mysterious thought that in this mortal frame
Of things, with unextinguished lustre burnest
Now pale and faint now high to Heaven upcurled
That eer as thou dost languish still returnest _10
And ever
Before the . . . before the Pyramids
So soon as from the Earth formless and rude
One living step had chased drear Solitude
Thou wert, Thought; thy brightness charmed the lids _15
Of the vast snake Eternity, who kept
The tree of good and evil. --
***
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1820, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
We spent the latter part of the year 1819 in Florence, where Shelley
passed several hours daily in the Gallery, and made various notes on
its ancient works of art. His thoughts were a good deal taken up also
by the project of a steamboat, undertaken by a friend, an engineer, to
ply between Leghorn and Marseilles, for which he supplied a sum of
money. This was a sort of plan to delight Shelley, and he was greatly
disappointed when it was thrown aside.
There was something in Florence that disagreed excessively with his
health, and he suffered far more pain than usual; so much so that we
left it sooner than we intended, and removed to Pisa, where we had some
friends, and, above all, where we could consult the celebrated Vacca as
to the cause of Shelley's sufferings. He, like every other medical man,
could only guess at that, and gave little hope of immediate relief; he
enjoined him to abstain from all physicians and medicine, and to leave
his complaint to Nature. As he had vainly consulted medical men of the
highest repute in England, he was easily persuaded to adopt this
advice. Pain and ill-health followed him to the end; but the residence
at Pisa agreed with him better than any other, and there in consequence
we remained.
In the Spring we spent a week or two near Leghorn, borrowing the house
of some friends who were absent on a journey to England. It was on a
beautiful summer evening, while wandering among the lanes whose
myrtle-hedges were the bowers of the fire-flies, that we heard the
carolling of the skylark which inspired one of the most beautiful of
his poems. He addressed the letter to Mrs. Gisborne from this house,
which was hers: he had made his study of the workshop of her son, who
was an engineer. Mrs. Gisborne had been a friend of my father in her
younger days. She was a lady of great accomplishments, and charming
from her frank and affectionate nature. She had the most intense love
of knowledge, a delicate and trembling sensibility, and preserved
freshness of mind after a life of considerable adversity. As a
favourite friend of my father, we had sought her with eagerness; and
the most open and cordial friendship was established between us.
Our stay at the Baths of San Giuliano was shortened by an accident. At
the foot of our garden ran the canal that communicated between the
Serchio and the Arno. The Serchio overflowed its banks, and, breaking
its bounds, this canal also overflowed; all this part of the country is
below the level of its rivers, and the consequence was that it was
speedily flooded. The rising waters filled the Square of the Baths, in
the lower part of which our house was situated. The canal overflowed in
the garden behind; the rising waters on either side at last burst open
the doors, and, meeting in the house, rose to the height of six feet.
It was a picturesque sight at night to see the peasants driving the
cattle from the plains below to the hills above the Baths. A fire was
kept up to guide them across the ford; and the forms of the men and the
animals showed in dark relief against the red glare of the flame, which
was reflected again in the waters that filled the Square.
We then removed to Pisa, and took up our abode there for the winter.
The extreme mildness of the climate suited Shelley, and his solitude
was enlivened by an intercourse with several intimate friends. Chance
cast us strangely enough on this quiet half-unpeopled town; but its
very peace suited Shelley. Its river, the near mountains, and not
distant sea, added to its attractions, and were the objects of many
delightful excursions. We feared the south of Italy, and a hotter
climate, on account of our child; our former bereavement inspiring us
with terror. We seemed to take root here, and moved little afterwards;
often, indeed, entertaining projects for visiting other parts of Italy,
but still delaying. But for our fears on account of our child, I
believe we should have wandered over the world, both being passionately
fond of travelling. But human life, besides its great unalterable
necessities, is ruled by a thousand lilliputian ties that shackle at
the time, although it is difficult to account afterwards for their
influence over our destiny.
***
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821.
DIRGE FOR THE YEAR.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, and dated
January 1, 1821. ]
1.
Orphan Hours, the Year is dead,
Come and sigh, come and weep!
Merry Hours, smile instead,
For the Year is but asleep.
See, it smiles as it is sleeping, _5
Mocking your untimely weeping.
2.
As an earthquake rocks a corse
In its coffin in the clay,
So White Winter, that rough nurse,
Rocks the death-cold Year to-day; _10
Solemn Hours! wail aloud
For your mother in her shroud.
3.
As the wild air stirs and sways
The tree-swung cradle of a child,
So the breath of these rude days _15
Rocks the Year:--be calm and mild,
Trembling Hours, she will arise
With new love within her eyes.
4.
January gray is here,
Like a sexton by her grave; _20
February bears the bier,
March with grief doth howl and rave,
And April weeps--but, O ye Hours!
Follow with May's fairest flowers.
***
TO NIGHT.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.
There is a transcript in the Harvard manuscript book. ]
1.
Swiftly walk o'er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, _5
'Which make thee terrible and dear,--
Swift be thy flight!
2.
Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; _10
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand--
Come, long-sought!
3.
When I arose and saw the dawn, _15
I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee. _20
4.
Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee, _25
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me? --And I replied,
No, not thee!
5.
Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon-- _30
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night--
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon! _35
NOTE:
_1 o'er Harvard manuscript; over editions 1824, 1839.
***
TIME.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]
Unfathomable Sea!
whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow
Claspest the limits of mortality, _5
And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,
Who shall put forth on thee,
Unfathomable Sea? _10
***
LINES.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]
1.
Far, far away, O ye
Halcyons of Memory,
Seek some far calmer nest
Than this abandoned breast!
No news of your false spring _5
To my heart's winter bring,
Once having gone, in vain
Ye come again.
2.
Vultures, who build your bowers
High in the Future's towers, _10
Withered hopes on hopes are spread!
Dying joys, choked by the dead,
Will serve your beaks for prey
Many a day.
***
FROM THE ARABIC: AN IMITATION.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is an
intermediate draft amongst the Bodleian manuscripts. See Locock,
"Examination", etc. , 1903, page 13. ]
1.
My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;
It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.
Thy barb whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight _5
Bore thee far from me;
My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.
2.
Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed
Or the death they bear, _10
The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
With the wings of care;
In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
Shall mine cling to thee,
Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love, _15
It may bring to thee.
NOTES:
_3 hoofs]feet B.
_7 were]grew B.
_9 Ah! ]O B.
***
TO EMILIA VIVIANI.
[Published, (1) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824; (2, 1) by
Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862; (2, 2 and 3) by H. Buxton
Forman, "Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1876. ]
1.
Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me
Sweet-basil and mignonette?
Embleming love and health, which never yet
In the same wreath might be.
Alas, and they are wet! _5
Is it with thy kisses or thy tears?
For never rain or dew
Such fragrance drew
From plant or flower--the very doubt endears
My sadness ever new, _10
The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed for thee.
2.
Send the stars light, but send not love to me,
In whom love ever made
Health like a heap of embers soon to fade--
***
THE FUGITIVES.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems". 1824. ]
1.
The waters are flashing,
The white hail is dashing,
The lightnings are glancing,
The hoar-spray is dancing--
Away! _5
The whirlwind is rolling,
The thunder is tolling,
The forest is swinging,
The minster bells ringing--
Come away! _10
The Earth is like Ocean,
Wreck-strewn and in motion:
Bird, beast, man and worm
Have crept out of the storm--
Come away! _15
2.
'Our boat has one sail
And the helmsman is pale;--
A bold pilot I trow,
Who should follow us now,'--
Shouted he-- _20
And she cried: 'Ply the oar!
Put off gaily from shore! '--
As she spoke, bolts of death
Mixed with hail, specked their path
O'er the sea. _25
And from isle, tower and rock,
The blue beacon-cloud broke,
And though dumb in the blast,
The red cannon flashed fast
From the lee. _30
3.
And 'Fear'st thou? ' and 'Fear'st thou? '
And Seest thou? ' and 'Hear'st thou? '
And 'Drive we not free
O'er the terrible sea,
I and thou? ' _35
One boat-cloak did cover
The loved and the lover--
Their blood beats one measure,
They murmur proud pleasure
Soft and low;-- _40
While around the lashed Ocean,
Like mountains in motion,
Is withdrawn and uplifted,
Sunk, shattered and shifted
To and fro. _45
4.
In the court of the fortress
Beside the pale portress,
Like a bloodhound well beaten
The bridegroom stands, eaten
By shame; _50
On the topmost watch-turret,
As a death-boding spirit
Stands the gray tyrant father,
To his voice the mad weather
Seems tame; _55
And with curses as wild
As e'er clung to child,
He devotes to the blast,
The best, loveliest and last
Of his name! _60
NOTES:
_28 And though]Though editions 1839.
_57 clung]cling editions 1839.
***
TO --.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory--
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, _5
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
***
SONG.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.
There is a transcript in the Harvard manuscript book. ]
1.
Rarely, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day _5
'Tis since thou art fled away.
2.
How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain. _10
Spirit false! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.
3.
As a lizard with the shade
Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismayed; _15
Even the sighs of grief
Reproach thee, that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not hear.
4.
Let me set my mournful ditty
To a merry measure; _20
Thou wilt never come for pity,
Thou wilt come for pleasure;
Pity then will cut away
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.
5.
I love all that thou lovest, _25
Spirit of Delight!
The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed,
And the starry night;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born. _30
6.
I love snow, and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;
I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Everything almost
Which is Nature's, and may be _35
Untainted by man's misery.
7.
I love tranquil solitude,
And such society
As is quiet, wise, and good
Between thee and me _40
What difference? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.
8.
I love Love--though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things, _45
Spirit, I love thee--
Thou art love and life! Oh, come,
Make once more my heart thy home.
***
MUTABILITY.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.
There is a fair draft amongst the Boscombe manuscripts. ]
1.
The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies.
What is this world's delight? _5
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.
2.
Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship how rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss _10
For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.
3.
Whilst skies are blue and bright, _15
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou--and from thy sleep _20
Then wake to weep.
NOTES:
_9 how Boscombe manuscript; too editions 1824, 1839.
_12 though soon they fall]though soon we or so soon they cj. Rossetti.
***
LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.
[Published with "Hellas", 1821. ]
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
Art thou not overbold?
What! leapest thou forth as of old
In the light of thy morning mirth,
The last of the flock of the starry fold? _5
Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?
Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,
And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?
How! is not thy quick heart cold?
What spark is alive on thy hearth? _10
How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?
And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?
Thou wert warming thy fingers old
O'er the embers covered and cold
Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled-- _15
What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?
'Who has known me of old,' replied Earth,
'Or who has my story told?
It is thou who art overbold. '
And the lightning of scorn laughed forth _20
As she sung, 'To my bosom I fold
All my sons when their knell is knolled,
And so with living motion all are fed,
And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.
'Still alive and still bold,' shouted Earth, _25
'I grow bolder and still more bold.
The dead fill me ten thousandfold
Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth.
I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold,
Like a frozen chaos uprolled, _30
Till by the spirit of the mighty dead
My heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed.
'Ay, alive and still bold. ' muttered Earth,
'Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled,
In terror and blood and gold, _35
A torrent of ruin to death from his birth.
Leave the millions who follow to mould
The metal before it be cold;
And weave into his shame, which like the dead
Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled. ' _40
***
SONNET: POLITICAL GREATNESS.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a
transcript, headed "Sonnet to the Republic of Benevento", in the
Harvard manuscript book. ]
Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame,
Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts,
Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame;
Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts,
History is but the shadow of their shame, _5
Art veils her glass, or from the pageant starts
As to oblivion their blind millions fleet,
Staining that Heaven with obscene imagery
Of their own likeness. What are numbers knit
By force or custom? Man who man would be, _10
Must rule the empire of himself; in it
Must be supreme, establishing his throne
On vanquished will, quelling the anarchy
Of hopes and fears, being himself alone.
***
THE AZIOLA.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley in "The Keepsake", 1829. ]
1.
'Do you not hear the Aziola cry?
Methinks she must be nigh,'
Said Mary, as we sate
In dusk, ere stars were lit, or candles brought;
And I, who thought _5
This Aziola was some tedious woman,
Asked, 'Who is Aziola? ' How elate
I felt to know that it was nothing human,
No mockery of myself to fear or hate:
And Mary saw my soul, _10
And laughed, and said, 'Disquiet yourself not;
'Tis nothing but a little downy owl. '
2.
Sad Aziola! many an eventide
Thy music I had heard
By wood and stream, meadow and mountain-side, _15
And fields and marshes wide,--
Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird,
The soul ever stirred;
Unlike and far sweeter than them all.
Sad Aziola! from that moment I _20
Loved thee and thy sad cry.
NOTES:
_4 ere stars]ere the stars editions 1839.
_9 or]and editions 1839.
_19 them]they editions 1839.
***
A LAMENT.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]
1.
O world! O life! O time!
On whose last steps I climb,
Trembling at that where I had stood before;
When will return the glory of your prime?
No more--Oh, never more! _5
2.
Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight;
Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar,
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight
No more--Oh, never more! _10
***
REMEMBRANCE.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, where it is
entitled "A Lament". Three manuscript copies are extant: The Trelawny
manuscript ("Remembrance"), the Harvard manuscript ("Song") and the
Houghton manuscript--the last written by Shelley on a flyleaf of a copy
of "Adonais". ]
1.
Swifter far than summer's flight--
Swifter far than youth's delight--
Swifter far than happy night,
Art thou come and gone--
As the earth when leaves are dead, _5
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.
2.
The swallow summer comes again--
The owlet night resumes her reign-- _10
But the wild-swan youth is fain
To fly with thee, false as thou. --
My heart each day desires the morrow;
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow;
Vainly would my winter borrow _15
Sunny leaves from any bough.
3.
Lilies for a bridal bed--
Roses for a matron's head--
Violets for a maiden dead--
Pansies let MY flowers be: _20
On the living grave I bear
Scatter them without a tear--
Let no friend, however dear,
Waste one hope, one fear for me.
NOTES:
_5-_7 So editions 1824, 1839, Trelawny manuscript, Harvard manuscript;
As the wood when leaves are shed,
As the night when sleep is fled,
As the heart when joy is dead Houghton manuscript.
_13 So editions 1824, 1839, Harvard manuscript, Houghton manuscript.
My heart to-day desires to-morrow Trelawny manuscript.
_20 So editions 1824, 1839, Harvard manuscript, Houghton manuscript.
Sadder flowers find for me Trelawny manuscript.
_24 one hope, one fear]a hope, a fear Trelawny manuscript.
***
TO EDWARD WILLIAMS.
[Published in Ascham's edition of the "Poems", 1834.
There is a copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts. ]
1.
The serpent is shut out from Paradise.
The wounded deer must seek the herb no more
In which its heart-cure lies:
The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bower
Like that from which its mate with feigned sighs _5
Fled in the April hour.
I too must seldom seek again
Near happy friends a mitigated pain.
A feeling in the . . . which was a shade
Of gentle beauty on the flowers: there lay _45
All gems that make the earth's dark bosom gay.
. . . rods of myrtle-buds and lemon-blooms,
And that leaf tinted lightly which assumes
The livery of unremembered snow--
Violets whose eyes have drunk-- _50
. . .
Fiordispina and her nurse are now
Upon the steps of the high portico,
Under the withered arm of Media
She flings her glowing arm
. . .
. . . step by step and stair by stair, _55
That withered woman, gray and white and brown--
More like a trunk by lichens overgrown
Than anything which once could have been human.
And ever as she goes the palsied woman
. . .
'How slow and painfully you seem to walk, _60
Poor Media! you tire yourself with talk. '
'And well it may,
Fiordispina, dearest--well-a-day!
You are hastening to a marriage-bed;
I to the grave! '--'And if my love were dead, _65
Unless my heart deceives me, I would lie
Beside him in my shroud as willingly
As now in the gay night-dress Lilla wrought. '
'Fie, child! Let that unseasonable thought
Not be remembered till it snows in June; _70
Such fancies are a music out of tune
With the sweet dance your heart must keep to-night.
What! would you take all beauty and delight
Back to the Paradise from which you sprung,
And leave to grosser mortals? -- _75
And say, sweet lamb, would you not learn the sweet
And subtle mystery by which spirits meet?
Who knows whether the loving game is played,
When, once of mortal [vesture] disarrayed,
The naked soul goes wandering here and there _80
Through the wide deserts of Elysian air?
The violet dies not till it'--
NOTES:
_11 to 1824; two editions 1839.
_20 e'er 1862; ever editions 1824, 1839.
_25 sea edition 1862; sense editions 1824, 1839.
***
TIME LONG PAST.
[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870.
This is one of three poems (cf. "Love's Philosophy" and "Good-Night")
transcribed by Shelley in a copy of Leigh Hunt's "Literary Pocket-Book"
for 1819 presented by him to Miss Sophia Stacey, December 29, 1820. ]
1.
Like the ghost of a dear friend dead
Is Time long past.
A tone which is now forever fled,
A hope which is now forever past,
A love so sweet it could not last, _5
Was Time long past.
2.
There were sweet dreams in the night
Of Time long past:
And, was it sadness or delight,
Each day a shadow onward cast _10
Which made us wish it yet might last--
That Time long past.
3.
There is regret, almost remorse,
For Time long past.
'Tis like a child's beloved corse _15
A father watches, till at last
Beauty is like remembrance, cast
From Time long past.
***
FRAGMENT: THE DESERTS OF DIM SLEEP.
[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]
I went into the deserts of dim sleep--
That world which, like an unknown wilderness,
Bounds this with its recesses wide and deep--
***
FRAGMENT: 'THE VIEWLESS AND INVISIBLE CONSEQUENCE'.
[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]
The viewless and invisible Consequence
Watches thy goings-out, and comings-in,
And. . . hovers o'er thy guilty sleep,
Unveiling every new-born deed, and thoughts
More ghastly than those deeds-- _5
***
FRAGMENT: A SERPENT-FACE.
[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]
His face was like a snake's--wrinkled and loose
And withered--
***
FRAGMENT: DEATH IN LIFE.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]
My head is heavy, my limbs are weary,
And it is not life that makes me move.
***
FRAGMENT: 'SUCH HOPE, AS IS THE SICK DESPAIR OF GOOD'.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]
Such hope, as is the sick despair of good,
Such fear, as is the certainty of ill,
Such doubt, as is pale Expectation's food
Turned while she tastes to poison, when the will
Is powerless, and the spirit. . . _5
***
FRAGMENT: 'ALAS! THIS IS NOT WHAT I THOUGHT LIFE WAS'.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. This
fragment is joined by Forman with that immediately preceding. ]
Alas! this is not what I thought life was.
I knew that there were crimes and evil men,
Misery and hate; nor did I hope to pass
Untouched by suffering, through the rugged glen.
In mine own heart I saw as in a glass _5
The hearts of others . . . And when
I went among my kind, with triple brass
Of calm endurance my weak breast I armed,
To bear scorn, fear, and hate, a woful mass!
***
FRAGMENT: MILTON'S SPIRIT.
[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]
I dreamed that Milton's spirit rose, and took
From life's green tree his Uranian lute;
And from his touch sweet thunder flowed, and shook
All human things built in contempt of man,--
And sanguine thrones and impious altars quaked, _5
Prisons and citadels. . .
NOTE:
_2 lute Uranian cj. A. C. Bradley.
***
FRAGMENT: 'UNRISEN SPLENDOUR OF THE BRIGHTEST SUN'.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]
Unrisen splendour of the brightest sun,
To rise upon our darkness, if the star
Now beckoning thee out of thy misty throne
Could thaw the clouds which wage an obscure war
With thy young brightness! _5
***
FRAGMENT: PATER OMNIPOTENS.
[Edited from manuscript Shelley E 4 in the Bodleian Library, and
published by Mr. C. D. Locock, "Examination" etc. , Oxford, Clarendon
Press, 1903. Here placed conjecturally amongst the compositions of
1820, but of uncertain date, and belonging possibly to 1819 or a still
earlier year. ]
Serene in his unconquerable might
Endued[,] the Almighty King, his steadfast throne
Encompassed unapproachably with power
And darkness and deep solitude an awe
Stood like a black cloud on some aery cliff _5
Embosoming its lightning--in his sight
Unnumbered glorious spirits trembling stood
Like slaves before their Lord--prostrate around
Heaven's multitudes hymned everlasting praise.
***
FRAGMENT: TO THE MIND OF MAN.
[Edited, published and here placed as the preceding. ]
Thou living light that in thy rainbow hues
Clothest this naked world; and over Sea
And Earth and air, and all the shapes that be
In peopled darkness of this wondrous world
The Spirit of thy glory dost diffuse _5
. . . truth . . . thou Vital Flame
Mysterious thought that in this mortal frame
Of things, with unextinguished lustre burnest
Now pale and faint now high to Heaven upcurled
That eer as thou dost languish still returnest _10
And ever
Before the . . . before the Pyramids
So soon as from the Earth formless and rude
One living step had chased drear Solitude
Thou wert, Thought; thy brightness charmed the lids _15
Of the vast snake Eternity, who kept
The tree of good and evil. --
***
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1820, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
We spent the latter part of the year 1819 in Florence, where Shelley
passed several hours daily in the Gallery, and made various notes on
its ancient works of art. His thoughts were a good deal taken up also
by the project of a steamboat, undertaken by a friend, an engineer, to
ply between Leghorn and Marseilles, for which he supplied a sum of
money. This was a sort of plan to delight Shelley, and he was greatly
disappointed when it was thrown aside.
There was something in Florence that disagreed excessively with his
health, and he suffered far more pain than usual; so much so that we
left it sooner than we intended, and removed to Pisa, where we had some
friends, and, above all, where we could consult the celebrated Vacca as
to the cause of Shelley's sufferings. He, like every other medical man,
could only guess at that, and gave little hope of immediate relief; he
enjoined him to abstain from all physicians and medicine, and to leave
his complaint to Nature. As he had vainly consulted medical men of the
highest repute in England, he was easily persuaded to adopt this
advice. Pain and ill-health followed him to the end; but the residence
at Pisa agreed with him better than any other, and there in consequence
we remained.
In the Spring we spent a week or two near Leghorn, borrowing the house
of some friends who were absent on a journey to England. It was on a
beautiful summer evening, while wandering among the lanes whose
myrtle-hedges were the bowers of the fire-flies, that we heard the
carolling of the skylark which inspired one of the most beautiful of
his poems. He addressed the letter to Mrs. Gisborne from this house,
which was hers: he had made his study of the workshop of her son, who
was an engineer. Mrs. Gisborne had been a friend of my father in her
younger days. She was a lady of great accomplishments, and charming
from her frank and affectionate nature. She had the most intense love
of knowledge, a delicate and trembling sensibility, and preserved
freshness of mind after a life of considerable adversity. As a
favourite friend of my father, we had sought her with eagerness; and
the most open and cordial friendship was established between us.
Our stay at the Baths of San Giuliano was shortened by an accident. At
the foot of our garden ran the canal that communicated between the
Serchio and the Arno. The Serchio overflowed its banks, and, breaking
its bounds, this canal also overflowed; all this part of the country is
below the level of its rivers, and the consequence was that it was
speedily flooded. The rising waters filled the Square of the Baths, in
the lower part of which our house was situated. The canal overflowed in
the garden behind; the rising waters on either side at last burst open
the doors, and, meeting in the house, rose to the height of six feet.
It was a picturesque sight at night to see the peasants driving the
cattle from the plains below to the hills above the Baths. A fire was
kept up to guide them across the ford; and the forms of the men and the
animals showed in dark relief against the red glare of the flame, which
was reflected again in the waters that filled the Square.
We then removed to Pisa, and took up our abode there for the winter.
The extreme mildness of the climate suited Shelley, and his solitude
was enlivened by an intercourse with several intimate friends. Chance
cast us strangely enough on this quiet half-unpeopled town; but its
very peace suited Shelley. Its river, the near mountains, and not
distant sea, added to its attractions, and were the objects of many
delightful excursions. We feared the south of Italy, and a hotter
climate, on account of our child; our former bereavement inspiring us
with terror. We seemed to take root here, and moved little afterwards;
often, indeed, entertaining projects for visiting other parts of Italy,
but still delaying. But for our fears on account of our child, I
believe we should have wandered over the world, both being passionately
fond of travelling. But human life, besides its great unalterable
necessities, is ruled by a thousand lilliputian ties that shackle at
the time, although it is difficult to account afterwards for their
influence over our destiny.
***
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821.
DIRGE FOR THE YEAR.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, and dated
January 1, 1821. ]
1.
Orphan Hours, the Year is dead,
Come and sigh, come and weep!
Merry Hours, smile instead,
For the Year is but asleep.
See, it smiles as it is sleeping, _5
Mocking your untimely weeping.
2.
As an earthquake rocks a corse
In its coffin in the clay,
So White Winter, that rough nurse,
Rocks the death-cold Year to-day; _10
Solemn Hours! wail aloud
For your mother in her shroud.
3.
As the wild air stirs and sways
The tree-swung cradle of a child,
So the breath of these rude days _15
Rocks the Year:--be calm and mild,
Trembling Hours, she will arise
With new love within her eyes.
4.
January gray is here,
Like a sexton by her grave; _20
February bears the bier,
March with grief doth howl and rave,
And April weeps--but, O ye Hours!
Follow with May's fairest flowers.
***
TO NIGHT.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.
There is a transcript in the Harvard manuscript book. ]
1.
Swiftly walk o'er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, _5
'Which make thee terrible and dear,--
Swift be thy flight!
2.
Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; _10
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand--
Come, long-sought!
3.
When I arose and saw the dawn, _15
I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee. _20
4.
Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee, _25
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me? --And I replied,
No, not thee!
5.
Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon-- _30
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night--
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon! _35
NOTE:
_1 o'er Harvard manuscript; over editions 1824, 1839.
***
TIME.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]
Unfathomable Sea!
whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow
Claspest the limits of mortality, _5
And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,
Who shall put forth on thee,
Unfathomable Sea? _10
***
LINES.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]
1.
Far, far away, O ye
Halcyons of Memory,
Seek some far calmer nest
Than this abandoned breast!
No news of your false spring _5
To my heart's winter bring,
Once having gone, in vain
Ye come again.
2.
Vultures, who build your bowers
High in the Future's towers, _10
Withered hopes on hopes are spread!
Dying joys, choked by the dead,
Will serve your beaks for prey
Many a day.
***
FROM THE ARABIC: AN IMITATION.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is an
intermediate draft amongst the Bodleian manuscripts. See Locock,
"Examination", etc. , 1903, page 13. ]
1.
My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;
It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.
Thy barb whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight _5
Bore thee far from me;
My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.
2.
Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed
Or the death they bear, _10
The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
With the wings of care;
In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
Shall mine cling to thee,
Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love, _15
It may bring to thee.
NOTES:
_3 hoofs]feet B.
_7 were]grew B.
_9 Ah! ]O B.
***
TO EMILIA VIVIANI.
[Published, (1) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824; (2, 1) by
Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862; (2, 2 and 3) by H. Buxton
Forman, "Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1876. ]
1.
Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me
Sweet-basil and mignonette?
Embleming love and health, which never yet
In the same wreath might be.
Alas, and they are wet! _5
Is it with thy kisses or thy tears?
For never rain or dew
Such fragrance drew
From plant or flower--the very doubt endears
My sadness ever new, _10
The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed for thee.
2.
Send the stars light, but send not love to me,
In whom love ever made
Health like a heap of embers soon to fade--
***
THE FUGITIVES.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems". 1824. ]
1.
The waters are flashing,
The white hail is dashing,
The lightnings are glancing,
The hoar-spray is dancing--
Away! _5
The whirlwind is rolling,
The thunder is tolling,
The forest is swinging,
The minster bells ringing--
Come away! _10
The Earth is like Ocean,
Wreck-strewn and in motion:
Bird, beast, man and worm
Have crept out of the storm--
Come away! _15
2.
'Our boat has one sail
And the helmsman is pale;--
A bold pilot I trow,
Who should follow us now,'--
Shouted he-- _20
And she cried: 'Ply the oar!
Put off gaily from shore! '--
As she spoke, bolts of death
Mixed with hail, specked their path
O'er the sea. _25
And from isle, tower and rock,
The blue beacon-cloud broke,
And though dumb in the blast,
The red cannon flashed fast
From the lee. _30
3.
And 'Fear'st thou? ' and 'Fear'st thou? '
And Seest thou? ' and 'Hear'st thou? '
And 'Drive we not free
O'er the terrible sea,
I and thou? ' _35
One boat-cloak did cover
The loved and the lover--
Their blood beats one measure,
They murmur proud pleasure
Soft and low;-- _40
While around the lashed Ocean,
Like mountains in motion,
Is withdrawn and uplifted,
Sunk, shattered and shifted
To and fro. _45
4.
In the court of the fortress
Beside the pale portress,
Like a bloodhound well beaten
The bridegroom stands, eaten
By shame; _50
On the topmost watch-turret,
As a death-boding spirit
Stands the gray tyrant father,
To his voice the mad weather
Seems tame; _55
And with curses as wild
As e'er clung to child,
He devotes to the blast,
The best, loveliest and last
Of his name! _60
NOTES:
_28 And though]Though editions 1839.
_57 clung]cling editions 1839.
***
TO --.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory--
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, _5
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
***
SONG.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.
There is a transcript in the Harvard manuscript book. ]
1.
Rarely, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day _5
'Tis since thou art fled away.
2.
How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain. _10
Spirit false! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.
3.
As a lizard with the shade
Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismayed; _15
Even the sighs of grief
Reproach thee, that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not hear.
4.
Let me set my mournful ditty
To a merry measure; _20
Thou wilt never come for pity,
Thou wilt come for pleasure;
Pity then will cut away
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.
5.
I love all that thou lovest, _25
Spirit of Delight!
The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed,
And the starry night;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born. _30
6.
I love snow, and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;
I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Everything almost
Which is Nature's, and may be _35
Untainted by man's misery.
7.
I love tranquil solitude,
And such society
As is quiet, wise, and good
Between thee and me _40
What difference? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.
8.
I love Love--though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things, _45
Spirit, I love thee--
Thou art love and life! Oh, come,
Make once more my heart thy home.
***
MUTABILITY.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.
There is a fair draft amongst the Boscombe manuscripts. ]
1.
The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies.
What is this world's delight? _5
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.
2.
Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship how rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss _10
For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.
3.
Whilst skies are blue and bright, _15
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou--and from thy sleep _20
Then wake to weep.
NOTES:
_9 how Boscombe manuscript; too editions 1824, 1839.
_12 though soon they fall]though soon we or so soon they cj. Rossetti.
***
LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.
[Published with "Hellas", 1821. ]
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
Art thou not overbold?
What! leapest thou forth as of old
In the light of thy morning mirth,
The last of the flock of the starry fold? _5
Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?
Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,
And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?
How! is not thy quick heart cold?
What spark is alive on thy hearth? _10
How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?
And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?
Thou wert warming thy fingers old
O'er the embers covered and cold
Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled-- _15
What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?
'Who has known me of old,' replied Earth,
'Or who has my story told?
It is thou who art overbold. '
And the lightning of scorn laughed forth _20
As she sung, 'To my bosom I fold
All my sons when their knell is knolled,
And so with living motion all are fed,
And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.
'Still alive and still bold,' shouted Earth, _25
'I grow bolder and still more bold.
The dead fill me ten thousandfold
Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth.
I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold,
Like a frozen chaos uprolled, _30
Till by the spirit of the mighty dead
My heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed.
'Ay, alive and still bold. ' muttered Earth,
'Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled,
In terror and blood and gold, _35
A torrent of ruin to death from his birth.
Leave the millions who follow to mould
The metal before it be cold;
And weave into his shame, which like the dead
Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled. ' _40
***
SONNET: POLITICAL GREATNESS.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a
transcript, headed "Sonnet to the Republic of Benevento", in the
Harvard manuscript book. ]
Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame,
Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts,
Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame;
Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts,
History is but the shadow of their shame, _5
Art veils her glass, or from the pageant starts
As to oblivion their blind millions fleet,
Staining that Heaven with obscene imagery
Of their own likeness. What are numbers knit
By force or custom? Man who man would be, _10
Must rule the empire of himself; in it
Must be supreme, establishing his throne
On vanquished will, quelling the anarchy
Of hopes and fears, being himself alone.
***
THE AZIOLA.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley in "The Keepsake", 1829. ]
1.
'Do you not hear the Aziola cry?
Methinks she must be nigh,'
Said Mary, as we sate
In dusk, ere stars were lit, or candles brought;
And I, who thought _5
This Aziola was some tedious woman,
Asked, 'Who is Aziola? ' How elate
I felt to know that it was nothing human,
No mockery of myself to fear or hate:
And Mary saw my soul, _10
And laughed, and said, 'Disquiet yourself not;
'Tis nothing but a little downy owl. '
2.
Sad Aziola! many an eventide
Thy music I had heard
By wood and stream, meadow and mountain-side, _15
And fields and marshes wide,--
Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird,
The soul ever stirred;
Unlike and far sweeter than them all.
Sad Aziola! from that moment I _20
Loved thee and thy sad cry.
NOTES:
_4 ere stars]ere the stars editions 1839.
_9 or]and editions 1839.
_19 them]they editions 1839.
***
A LAMENT.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]
1.
O world! O life! O time!
On whose last steps I climb,
Trembling at that where I had stood before;
When will return the glory of your prime?
No more--Oh, never more! _5
2.
Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight;
Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar,
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight
No more--Oh, never more! _10
***
REMEMBRANCE.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, where it is
entitled "A Lament". Three manuscript copies are extant: The Trelawny
manuscript ("Remembrance"), the Harvard manuscript ("Song") and the
Houghton manuscript--the last written by Shelley on a flyleaf of a copy
of "Adonais". ]
1.
Swifter far than summer's flight--
Swifter far than youth's delight--
Swifter far than happy night,
Art thou come and gone--
As the earth when leaves are dead, _5
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.
2.
The swallow summer comes again--
The owlet night resumes her reign-- _10
But the wild-swan youth is fain
To fly with thee, false as thou. --
My heart each day desires the morrow;
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow;
Vainly would my winter borrow _15
Sunny leaves from any bough.
3.
Lilies for a bridal bed--
Roses for a matron's head--
Violets for a maiden dead--
Pansies let MY flowers be: _20
On the living grave I bear
Scatter them without a tear--
Let no friend, however dear,
Waste one hope, one fear for me.
NOTES:
_5-_7 So editions 1824, 1839, Trelawny manuscript, Harvard manuscript;
As the wood when leaves are shed,
As the night when sleep is fled,
As the heart when joy is dead Houghton manuscript.
_13 So editions 1824, 1839, Harvard manuscript, Houghton manuscript.
My heart to-day desires to-morrow Trelawny manuscript.
_20 So editions 1824, 1839, Harvard manuscript, Houghton manuscript.
Sadder flowers find for me Trelawny manuscript.
_24 one hope, one fear]a hope, a fear Trelawny manuscript.
***
TO EDWARD WILLIAMS.
[Published in Ascham's edition of the "Poems", 1834.
There is a copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts. ]
1.
The serpent is shut out from Paradise.
The wounded deer must seek the herb no more
In which its heart-cure lies:
The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bower
Like that from which its mate with feigned sighs _5
Fled in the April hour.
I too must seldom seek again
Near happy friends a mitigated pain.
