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ΔΑΚΡΥΣΙ ΔΙΟΙΣΩ ΠΟΤΜOΝ ΑΠΟΤΜΟΝ.
Oh, there are spirits of the air,
And genii of the evening breeze,
As star-beams among twilight trees !
With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And moonlight seas, that are the voice Of these inexplicable things,
Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice When they did answer thee; but they Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.
And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine, Another's wealth ; - tame sacrifice
To a fond faith! still dost thou pine ? Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks or lips, may answer thy demands ?
Ah, wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth's inconstancy ? Did thine own mind afford no scope
Of love, or moving thoughts to thee, That natural scenes or human smiles Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles?
To - Shelley, 1816 || To Coleridge, note on the Early Poems, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. Published with Alastor, 1816.
Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled
Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted ; The glory of the moon is dead;
Night's ghost and dreams have now departed; Thine own soul still is true to thee, But changed to a foul fiend through misery.
This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs, Dream not to chase; the mad endeavor Would scourge
thee to severer pangs. Be as thou art. Thy settled fate, Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.
YEt look on me
take not thine eyes away, Which feed upon the love within mine own, Which is indeed but the reflected
ray Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown.
Yet speak to me thy voice is as the tone Of my heart's echo, and I think I hear
That thou yet lovest me; yet thou alone Like one before a mirror, without care Of aught but thine own features, imaged there; And yet I wear out life in watching thee;
A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeed Art kind when I am sick, and pity me.
To Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18392.
STANZAS. APRIL, 1814
AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon,
even. Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness
And profoundest midnight shroud the serene
lights of heaven. Pause not! the time is past ! every voice cries,
Away! Tempt not with one last tear thy friend's un
gentle mood; Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not en
treat thy stay; Duty and dereliction guide thee back to soli
Away, away! to thy sad and silent home;
Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth ; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and
come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy
mirth. The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float
around thine head; The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath
Stanzas. Published with Alastor, 1816. Composed at Bracknell. i. 2 drunk, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || drank, Shelley, 1816.
tear, Shelley, 1816 || glance, Mrs. Shelley, 18391,
But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost
that binds the dead, Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere
thou and peace, may meet.
The cloud-shadows of midnight possess their own
repose, For the weary
winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep; Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean
knows; Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its
appointed sleep. Thou in the grave shalt rest — yet till the phan
toms flee, Which that house and heath and garden made
dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep mus
ings are not free From the music of two voices, and the light of
one sweet smile.
The look of love has power to calm
The stormiest passion of my soul;
In life's too bitter bowl ;
To Harriet. Published by Dowden, Life of Shelley, 1887. Composed May, 1814.
Harriet! if all who long to live
In the warm sunshine of thine eye,
Beneath thy scorn to die ;
Be thou, then, one among mankind
Whose heart is harder not for state,
Amid a world of hate;
For pale with anguish is his cheek,
His breath comes fast, his eyes are dim, Thy name is struggling ere he speak,
Weak is each trembling limb;
Oh, trust for once no erring guide !
Bid the remorseless feeling flee; 'Tis malice, 'tis revenge, 'tis pride,
'Tis anything but thee; Oh, deign a nobler pride to prove, And pity if thou canst not love.