TO WORDSWORTH POET of Nature, thou hast wept to know Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn. These common woes I feel. One loss is mine, Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore; a lone star whose light did Thou wert as shine On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar ; Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood Above the blind and battling multitude; In honored poverty thy voice did weave Songs consecrate to truth and liberty;Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve, Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be. FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE I HATED thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan Like thou, shouldst dance and revel on the grave To Wordsworth. Published with Alastor, 1816. Feelings of a Republican on the Fall of Bonaparte. Published with Alastor, 1816. 3 thou, shouldst || thee, Rossetti conj., should, Rossetti. Where it had stood even now: thou didst prefer Too late, since thou and France are in the dust, That Virtue owns a more eternal foe Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, Legal Crime, And bloody Faith, the foulest birth of time. LINES THE cold earth slept below; Above the cold sky shone; And all around, With a chilling sound, From caves of ice and fields of snow The breath of night like death did flow The wintry hedge was black; The green grass was not seen; On the bare thorn's breast, Whose roots, beside the pathway track, Which the frost had made between. Thine eyes glowed in the glare Of the moon's dying light; Lines. Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || November, 1815. Pocket-Book, 1823. Published by Hunt, 1823. The Literary As a fen-fire's beam On a sluggish stream Gleams dimly —so the moon shone there, The moon made thy lips pale, beloved The wind made thy bosom chill; On thy dear head Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie iii. 6 tangled, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || raven, Hunt, 1823. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1816 THE SUNSET THERE late was One within whose subtle being, There now the sun had sunk; but lines of gold Hung on the ashen clouds, and on the points The Sunset. Published in part by Hunt in The Literary PocketBook, 1823, 9-20, with title, Sunset. From an unpublished poem, and, 28-42, with title, Grief. A Fragment; and, entire, by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Composed at Bishopsgate in the spring. 4 death, Mrs. Shelley, 1839 1 || youth, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. "I never saw the sun? We will walk here To-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me." That night the youth and lady mingled lay Woven by some subtlest bard to make hard hearts Her eyes were black and lustreless and wan, Her lips and cheeks were like things dead - so pale; Her hands were thin, and through their wandering veins And weak articulations might be seen Day's ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day, Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee! "Inheritor of more than earth can give, Passionless calm and silence unreproved, Whether the dead find, oh, not sleep, but rest, And are the uncomplaining things they seem, 22 sunrise? We will wake, Forman conj. 37 Hunt, 1823 || omit, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. |