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By mine thy being is to its deep
“The spell is done. How feel you now?”
“ Better — quite well,” replied The sleeper,
66 What would do You good when suffering and awake?
“ What cure your head and side ?” What would cure, that would kill me, Jane;
And as I must on earth abide Awhile, yet tempt me not to break
Best and brightest, come away!
To hoar February born. v. 6 Trelawny MS. II 'Twould kill me what would cure my pain. Medwin, 1832, Mrs. Shelley, 18391,4.
To Jane. The Invitation: The Recollection. Rossetti || The Pine Forest of the Cascine near Pisa. Mrs. Shelley, 1824, 18391. The Invitation. The Recollection. Mrs. Shelley, 18392. Published by Mrs. Shelley in two versions, the first, 1824, reprinted in this edition under FRAGMENTS, the second, 18392.
Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,
Away, away, from men and towns,
into the fields
I will pay you
in the grave,
Death will listen to your stave.
34 with, Trelawny MS. || of, Mrs. Shelley, 18392.
With smiles, nor follow where I go; Long having lived on thy sweet food, At length I find one moment's good After long pain — with all your love, This you never told me of.”
Radiant Sister of the Day,
Rossetti. 44 moment's, Trelawny MS. || moment, Mrs. Shelley, 18392. 50 And, Trelawny MS. || To, Mrs. Shelley, 18392. 53 dun, Trelawny MS. || dim, Mrs. Shelley, 18392.
Now the last day of many days,
The loveliest and the last, is dead,
The epitaph of glory fled, For now the Earth has changed its face,
A frown is on the Heaven's brow.
That skirts the Ocean's foam,
The tempest in its home. The whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,
The smile of Heaven lay;
Sent from beyond the skies,
A light of Paradise.
We paused amid the pines that stood
The giants of the waste,
i. 6 fled, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || dead, Trelawny MS., Mrs. Shelley,
ü. 2 Ocean, Mrs. Shelley, 18392.
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude
As serpents interlaced,
That under heaven is blown,
As tender as its own ;
Like green waves on the sea,
The ocean woods may be.
IV How calm it was ! the silence there
By such a chain was bound That even the busy woodpecker
Made stiller by her sound The inviolable quietness;
The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less
The calm that round us grew. There seemed, from the remotest seat
Of the white mountain waste
A magic circle traced,
A thrilling silent life,
Our mortal nature's strife;
The magic circle there Was one fair form that filled with love
The lifeless atmosphere. iv. 4 with, Rossetti.
10 white, Trelawny MS. || wide, Mrs. Shelley, 18392.