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Or live, or drop in the deep sea of Love;
This was the only moan she ever made.
HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY
THE awful shadow of some unseen Power
Floats though unseen among us, visiting
This various world with as inconstant wing As summer winds that creep from flower to
flower ; Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain
Each human heart and countenance ;
Like clouds in starlight widely spread,
Like aught that for its grace may be
Spirit of Beauty, that dost consecrate
With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon
Why dost thou pass away, and leave our state, Hymn to Intellectual Beauty. Published by Hunt, Examiner January 19, 1817, and with Rosalind and Helen, 1819. Com posed, probably, in Switzerland, in the summer.
i. 2 among, Shelley, 1819 || amongst, Shelley, 1817. ii. 1 dost, Shelley, 1819 || doth, Shelley, 1817.
This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate ?
Ask why the sunlight not forever
Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain river; Why aught should fail and fade that once is
Such gloom ; why man has such a scope
No voice from some sublimer world hath ever
To sage or poet these responses given;
Doubt, chance and mutability.
Or moonlight on a midnight stream,
Love, Hope and Self-esteem, like clouds, depart,
And come, for some uncertain moments lent.
Man were immortal and omnipotent,
ii. 9 fear and dream || care and pain, Boscombe MS.
Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his
That wax and wane in lovers' eyes !
Like darkness to a dying flame,
Depart not, lest the grave should be,
While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped
Through many a listening chamber, cave and
And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursu
ing Hopes of high talk with the departed dead; I called on poisonous names with which our youth
When, musing deeply on the lot
Sudden thy shadow fell on me;
To thee and thine — have I not kept the vow ?
iv 8 art, Shelley, 1817 || are, Shelley, 1819.
I call the phantoms of a thousand hours
Outwatched with me the envious night -
Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free
That thou, O awful Loveliness,
The day becomes more solemn and serene
When noon is past; there is a harmony
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky, Which through the summer is not heard or seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been !
Thus let thy power, which like the truth
Of nature on my passive youth
Its calm, — to one who worships thee,
Whom, Spirit fair, thy spells did bind
LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI
The everlasting universe of things
Mont Blanc. Published in the History of a Six Weeks' Tour, 1817. Composed in Switzerland, in July.
Now dark, now glittering, now reflecting gloom, Now lending splendor, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters,
with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assume In the wild woods, among the mountains lone, Where waterfalls around it leap forever, Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.
Thus thou, Ravine of Arve - dark, deep Ravine