Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The Spirit he loves remains ; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains. The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, When the morning star shines dead; As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardors of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. The mountains its columns be. When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-colored bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, While the moist earth was laughing below. I am the daughter of earth and water, I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; For after the rain, when with never a stain The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again. TO A SKYLARK HAIL to thee, blithe Spirit! Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning, Thou dost float and run; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; To a Skylark the, Harvard MS. cancelled. Published with Prometheus Unbound, 1820. Composed at Leghorn, 1820. 14 Thou dost || Thy wings, Harvard MS. cancelled. Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Until we hardly see we feel that it is there; All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As when Night is bare From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a Poet hidden In the light of thought, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: 20 shrill || blithe, Harvard MS. cancelled. 21 Keen as are | Thy notes, like, Harvard MS. cancelled. 33 rainbow clouds there || the rainbows, Harvard MS. cancelled. Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love,-which overflows her bower: Like a glowworm golden In a dell of dew, Its aërial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view: Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy wingèd thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, All that ever was Joyous and clear and fresh, thy music doth surpass. Teach us, Sprite or Bird, What sweet thoughts are thine; 45 sweet as love, — which || which is love—and, Harvard MS. cancelled. 53 warm || the, Harvard MS. cancelled. 55 faint || rich, Harvard MS. cancelled; those, Harvard MS. || the, Harvard MS. cancelled, these, Shelley, 1820. |