« PredošláPokračovať »
O joy! O fear! what will be done
NIGHT, with all thine eyes look down!
Darkness, shed its holiest dew!
On a pair so true ?
O joy! O fear! what may be done
The golden gates of sleep unbar!
When strength and beauty meet together, Kindles their image like a star
In a sea of glassy weather.
O joy ! O fear! what may be done
Come along ! Epithalamium. Published by Medwin, Life of Shelley, 1847.
Fairies / sprites! and angels keep her!
Holiest powers, permit no wrong! And return, to wake the sleeper,
Dawn, ere it be long. Hence, swift hour! and quench thy light, Lest eyes see their own delight! Hence, coy hour! and thy loved flight
BOYS AND GIRLS
O joy ! O fear! what will be done
Night! with all thine eyes look down!
Darkness! weep thy holiest dew!
On a pair so true.
Fairies, sprites, and angels, keep her!
Holy stars ! permit no wrong!
Dawn, ere it be long!
be done Another Version. Published by Rossetti, 1870.
In the absence of the sun :
Oh, linger long, thou envious eastern lamp
In the damp
Caves of the deep!
Nay, return, Vesper! urge thy lazy car!
The gates of Sleep!
The golden gate of Sleep unbar,
When Strength and Beauty, met together, Kindle their image, like a star
In a sea of glassy weather. May the purple mist of love Round them rise, and with them move, Nourishing each tender gem Which, like flowers, will burst from them. As the fruit is to the tree May their children ever be !
PONTE AL MARE, PISA
The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
Evening. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep,
And evening's breath, wandering here and there Over the quivering surface of the stream, Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream.
There is no dew on the dry grass to-night,
Nor damp within the shadow of the trees; The wind is intermitting, dry, and light;
And in the inconstant motion of the breeze The dust and straws are driven up and down, And whirled about the pavement of the town.
Within the surface of the fleeting river
The wrinkled image of the city lay,
It trembles, but it never fades away ;
The chasm in which the sun has sunk is shut
By darkest barriers of enormous cloud, Like mountain over mountain haddled but
Growing and moving upwards in a crowd, And over it a space of watery blue, Which the keen evening star is shining through.
i. 6 summer, Mrs. Shelley, 18392 || silent, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. iv. 2 enormous, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || cinereous, Boscombe MS.
“Do you not hear the Aziola cry?
Said Mary, as we sate
And I, who thought
Asked, “ Who is Aziola?” How elate
And Mary saw my soul, And laughed, and said, “ Disquiet yourself not,
'Tis nothing but a little downy owl.”
Sad Aziola ! many an eventide
Thy music I had heard By wood and stream, meadow and mountain-side,
And fields and marshes wide, -
The soul ever stirred;
Loved thee and thy sad cry. The Aziola. Published by Mrs. Shelley, in The Keepsake, 1829.