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And on the stream whose inconstant bosom
Was pranked, under boughs of embowering blossom, With golden and green light, slanting through Their heaven of many a tangled hue,
Broad water-lilies lay tremulously,
And around them the soft stream did glide and dance
With a motion of sweet sound and radiance.
And the sinuous paths of lawn and of moss, Which led through the garden along and across, Some open at once to the sun and the breeze, Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees,
Were all paved with daisies and delicate bells,
And flowrets which, drooping as day drooped too,
And from this undefiled Paradise
When Heaven's blithe winds had unfolded them
47 and or, Harvard MS.
For each one was interpenetrated
With the light and the odor its neighbor shed, Like young lovers whom youth and love make dear, Wrapped and filled by their mutual atmosphere.
But the Sensitive Plant, which could give small fruit
Of the love which it felt from the leaf to the root, Received more than all, it loved more than ever, Where none wanted but it, could belong to the giver;
For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower;
It loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full,
The light winds which from unsustaining wings
The beams which dart from many a star
The plumed insects swift and free,
The unseen clouds of the dew, which lie
82 The | And the, Harvard MS.
The quivering vapors of dim noontide,
Each and all like ministering angels were
And when evening descended from heaven above, And the Earth was all rest, and the air was all love,
And delight, though less bright, was far more deep, And the day's veil fell from the world of sleep,
And the beasts, and the birds, and the insects were drowned
In an ocean of dreams without a sound,
(Only overhead the sweet nightingale
And snatches of its Elysian chant
Were mixed with the dreams of the Sensitive
The Sensitive Plant was the earliest
There was a Power in this sweet place,
A Lady, the wonder of her kind,
Whose form was upborne by a lovely mind
Tended the garden from morn to even ;
She had no companion of mortal race,
That her dreams were less slumber than Paradise:
As if some bright Spirit for her sweet sake
Her step seemed to pity the grass it pressed;
15 morn, Harvard MS., Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || moon, Shelley, 1820.
That the coming and going of the wind Brought pleasure there and left passion behind.
And wherever her airy footstep trod,
I doubt not the flowers of that garden sweet
She sprinkled bright water from the stream
She lifted their heads with her tender hands, And sustained them with rods and osier-bands; If the flowers had been her own infants, she Could never have nursed them more tenderly.
And all killing insects and gnawing worms,
In a basket, of grasses and wild flowers full,
23 and going, Shelley, 1820 || and the going, Harvard MS., Mrs. Shelley, 18391.