TO IANTHE I LOVE thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake; ; 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. STANZA WRITTEN AT BRACKNELL THY dewy looks sink in my breast; I could have borne my wayward lot: Had cankered then - but crushed it not. To Ianthe. Published by Dowden, Life of Shelley, 1887. Composed September, 1813. Stanza. Published by Hogg, Life of Shelley, 1858. Composed March, 1814. ΤΟ ΔΑΚΡΥΣΙ ΔΙΟΙΣΩ ΠΟΤΜΟΝ 'ΑΠΟΤΜΟΝ. Он, there are spirits of the air, As star-beams among twilight trees! Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet. With mountain winds, and babbling springs, Of these inexplicable things, Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice When they did answer thee; but they Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away. And thou hast sought in starry eyes Beams that were never meant for thine, To a fond faith! still dost thou pine? Ah, wherefore didst thou build thine hope Of love, or moving thoughts to thee, 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 Would scourge thee to severer pangs. YET look on me ΤΟ take not thine eyes away, Which feed upon the love within mine own, Which is indeed but the reflected ray Of Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown. thy voice is as the tone 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. Το Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18392. STANZAS. APRIL, 1814 AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon, even. Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, 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; Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come, 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 repose, 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. TO HARRIET 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. |