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The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream
Like sweet thoughts in a dream ;
It dies upon her heart,
O belovéd as thou art !
I die, I faint, I fail !
20 My cheek is cold and white, alas !
My heart beats loud and fast ;
P. B. SHELLEY.
173 She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes, Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies, One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
174 She was a phantom of delight When first she gleam'd upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair ; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn ; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet ; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine ; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death : The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; A perfect woman, nobly plann'd To warn, to comfort, and command ; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light.
She is not fair to outward view
As many maidens be ;
Until she smiled on me.
O then I saw her eye was bright,
To mine they ne'er reply,
10 Her very frowns are fairer far Than smiles of other maidens are.
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden ;
Thou needest not fear mine ; My spirit is too deeply laden
Ever to burthen thine.
I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion ;
Thou needest not fear mine ; Innocent is the heart's devotion With which I worship thine.
P. B. SHELLEY.
THE LOST LOVE
Beside the springs of Dove ;
And very few to love :
Half hidden from the eye !
Is shining in the sky..
When Lucy ceased to be ;
I travell’d among unknown men
In lands beyond the sea ;
What love I bore to thee.
'Tis past, that melancholy dream !
Nor will I quit thy shore
To love thee more and more.
The joy of my desire ;
Beside an English fire.
The bowers where Lucy play'd ; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes survey’d.
THE EDUCATION OF NATURE
Three years she grew in sun and shower ;
On earth was never sown :
A lady of my own.
The girl, in rock and plain,
To kindle or restrain.
She shall be sportive as the fawn
Or up the mountain springs
Of mute insensate things.
Nor shall she fail to see
By silent sympathy.
In many a secret place
Shall pass into her face.
Her virgin bosom swell ;
Here in this happy dell.'
She died, and left to me
A slumber did my spirit seal ;
I had no human fears :
The touch of earthly years.