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The Miscellaneous Poems with some exceptions were published either by Shelley, in his successive volumes, or by Mrs. Shelley, in Posthumous Poems, 1824, and the two editions of 1839. A few first appeared elsewhere, and were included in the collected editions, and still others have from time to time found their way to the public. The original issue of each poem is stated, in this edition, in the footnotes. Manuscripts of several, either in Shelley's or Mrs. Shelley's hand, are in existence, and either establish the text or afford variations. The history of each poem, if known, is given in the NOTES.





O THOU bright Sun! beneath the dark blue line

Of western distance that sublime descendest,
And, gleaming lovelier as thy beams decline,

Thy million hues to every vapor lendest,
And, over cobweb lawn and grove and stream

Sheddest the liquid magic of thy light,
Till calm Earth, with the parting splendor

Shows like the vision of a beauteous dream ;
What gazer now with astronomic eye

Could coldly count the spots within thy sphere?

Such were thy lover, Harriet, could he fly The thoughts of all that makes his passion dear,

And, turning senseless from thy warm caress, Pick flaws in our close-woven happiness.


Evening. To Harriet. Published by Dowden, Life of Shelley. 1887. Composed July 31, 1813.


I LOVE thee, Baby ! for thine own sweet sake;

Those azure eyes, that faintly dimpled cheek, Thy tender frame, so eloquently weak,

Love in the sternest heart of hate might wake; But more when o'er thy fitful slumber bending

Thy mother folds thee to her wakeful heart, Whilst love and pity, in her glances blending,

All that thy passive eyes can feel impart: More, when some feeble lineaments of her,

Who bore thy weight beneath her spotless bosom,

As with deep love I read thy face, recur, More dear art thou, O fair and fragile blossom ;

Dearest when most thy tender traits express
The image of thy mother's loveliness.

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Thy dewy looks sink in my breast;

Thy gentle words stir poison there;
Thou hast disturbed the only rest

That was the portion of despair!
Subdued to Duty's hard control,

I could have borne my wayward lot:
The chains that bind this ruined soul

Had cankered then but crushed it not. To Ianthe. Published by Dowden, Life of Shelley, 1887. Composed September, 1813.

Stanza. Published by Hogg, Life of Shelley, 1858. Composed March, 1814.

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