« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
I LOVE thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake;
Thy mother folds thee to her wakeful heart, Whilst love and pity, in her glances blending, All that thy passive eyes can feel impart : More, when some feeble lineaments of her,
Who bore thy weight beneath her spotless bosom, As with deep love I read thy face, recur, More dear art thou, O fair and fragile blossom; Dearest when most thy tender traits express The image of thy mother's loveliness.
WRITTEN AT BRACKNELL
THY dewy looks sink in my breast;
That was the portion of despair!
I could have borne my wayward lot:
To Ianthe. Published by Dowden, Life of Shelley, 1887. Composed September, 1813.
Stanza. Published by Hogg, Life of Shelley, 1858. Composed March, 1814.
ΔΑΚΡΥΣΙ ΔΙΟΙΣΩ ΠΟΤΜΟΝ 'ΑΠΟΤΜΟΝ.
Он, there are spirits of the air,
And genii of the evening breeze,
Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.
With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice
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
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
Dream not to chase
; the mad endeavor
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.
Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18392.
STANZAS. APRIL, 1814
AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon,
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 ungentle mood;
Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay;
Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.
Away, away! to thy sad and silent home;
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 thy feet;
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
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 phantoms flee,
Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile,
Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not free
From the music of two voices, and the light of one sweet smile.
THY look of love has power to calm
No grief is mine, but that alone
These choicest blessings I have known.
To Harriet. Published by Dowden, Life of Shelley, 1887. Composed May, 1814.