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My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;

It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.

Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight,
Bore thee far from me;

My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.


Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
Or the death they bear,

The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove

With the wings of care;

In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
Shall mine cling to thee,

Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,
It may bring to thee.



RARELY, rarely, comest thou,

Spirit of Delight!

From the Arabic. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
Song. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

Wherefore hast thou left me now

Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day "Tis since thou art fled away.


How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.


As a lizard with the shade

Of a trembling leaf,

Thou with sorrow art dismayed;

Even the sighs of grief

Reproach thee, that thou art not near,

And reproach thou wilt not hear.


Let me set my mournful ditty

To a merry measure;
Thou wilt never come for pity,

Thou wilt come for pleasure;

Pity then will cut away

Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.


I love all that thou lovest,

Spirit of Delight!

The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed,

And the starry night;

Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born.


I love snow, and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;

I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Everything almost

Which is Nature's, and may be

Untainted by man's misery.


I love tranquil solitude,

And such society

As is quiet, wise, and good;

Between thee and me

What difference? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less.

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And like light can flee,

But above all other things,

Spirit, I love thee.

Thou art love and life! Oh, come,

Make once more my heart thy home.



SWIFTLY walk o'er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave,

Where all the long and lone daylight
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,-
Swift be thy flight!


Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;

Kiss her until she be wearied out;
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand
Come, long-sought!


When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,

And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighed for thee.

To Night. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
i. 1 o'er, Harvard MS. || over, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
iii. 5 his her, Rossetti.


Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee,

Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me? - and I replied,
No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon;

Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovèd Night,-
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!


MUSIC, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;

Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,

Are heaped for the beloved's bed;

And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

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