Anon the sky is cleared, and the high dome Has framed, while near his feet grim lions couch, 94 with fiery, Rossetti || with its fiery, Garnett. 102 his, Boscombe MS. || its, Rossetti. 106 that, Garnett || who, Rossetti. 112 willow trees, Rossetti || willows, too, Garnett. 113 huge, Rossetti || long, Garnett. 116 starlike . . . odors, Rossetti || starry . . . odor, Garnett. The birds are silent, hanging down their heads, FIORDISPINA THE season was the childhood of sweet June, For thou the wonders of the depth canst know Sparkling beneath the heaven which embowers They were two cousins, almost like two twins, Nature had rased their love which could not be But by dissevering their nativity. And so they grew together like two flowers Upon one stem, which the same beams and showers Lull or awaken in their purple prime, Which the same hand will gather, the same clime Shake with decay. This fair day smiles to see Fiordispina. Published, 11-30, by Mrs. Shelley, 1824, 1–82, by Garnett, 1862, and dated, 1820. 11 two, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || to, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. All those who love and who e'er loved like thee, Fiordispina? Scarcely Cosimo, Within whose bosom and whose brain now glow The ardors of a vision which obscure The very idol of its portraiture. He faints, dissolved into a sea of love; But thou art Love itself ruling the motion Had not brought forth this morn, your weddingday. "Lie there; sleep awhile in your own dew, Ye faint-eyed children of the Hours," Fiordispina said, and threw the flowers Which she had from the breathing – A table near of polished porphyry. They seemed to wear a beauty from the eye That looked on them, a fragrance from the touch Whose warmth checked their life; a light such As sleepers wear, lulled by the voice they love, Of gentle beauty on the flowers; there lay 20 e'er, Garnett || ever, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. All gems that make the earth's dark bosom gay. rods of myrtle-buds and lemon-blooms, Fiordispina and her nurse are now step by step and stair by stair, That withered woman, gray and white and brown More like a trunk by lichens overgrown Than anything which once could have been hu "How slow and painfully you seem to walk, Poor Media! you tire yourself with talk.” "And well it may, Fiordispina, dearest well-a-day! You are hastening to a marriage-bed; I to the grave! "And if dead, Unless my heart deceives me, I would lie As now in the gay night-dress Lilla wrought.' With the sweet dance your heart must keep to night. What! would you take all beauty and delight And leave to grosser mortals? And say, sweet lamb, would you not learn the sweet And subtle mystery by which spirits meet? THE BIRTH OF PLEASURE AT the creation of the Earth Of an ever-lengthening line The Birth of Pleasure. Forman || no title, Garnett. Published by Garnett, 1862, and dated, 1819. |