And thy tears upon my head
Burn like points of frozen lead.

IX

Hasten to the bridal bed
Underneath the grave 'tis spread:
In darkness may our love be hid,
Oblivion be our coverlid —
We may rest, and none forbid.

X

Clasp me, till our hearts be grown
Like two shadows into one;
Till this dreadful transport may
Like a vapor fade away
In the sleep that lasts alway.

XI

We may dream, in that long sleep,
That we are not those who weep;
E'en as Pleasure dreams of thee,
Life-deserting Misery,

Thou mayst dream of her with me.

XII

Let us laugh, and make our mirth,
At the shadows of the earth,

As dogs bay the moonlight clouds,
Which, like spectres wrapped in shrouds,
Pass o'er night in multitudes.

viii. 5 frozen || molten, Forman conj.

x. 2 shadows, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 lovers, Medwin, 1832, Boscombe MS.

xii. 4 That, Medwin, 1832.

XIII

All the wide world beside us
Show like multitudinous
Puppets passing from a scene;
What but mockery can they mean,
Where I am - where thou hast been?

STANZAS

WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES

I

THE sun is warm, the sky is clear,

The waves are dancing fast and bright;
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear

The purple noon's transparent might;
The breath of the moist earth is light
Around its unexpanded buds;

Like many a voice of one delight,
The winds, the birds, the ocean floods,
The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's.

xiii. 2 Show, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || Are, Medwin, 1832. 3 Puppets passing, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || Shadows shifting, Medwin, 1832.

xiii. 4, 5, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 ||

What but mockery may they mean?
Where am I? Where thou hast been.

Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

Stanzas. December.

i. 4 might, Boscombe MS. || light, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

5 Benbow, 1826, Mrs. Shelley, 18391; omit, Mrs. Shelley, 1824; moist earth, Boscombe MS. | moist air, Mrs. Shelley, 18391; west wind, Medwin, 1847.

Medwin, 1832.
Composed in

II

I see the Deep's untrampled floor

With green and purple sea-weeds strown;
I see the waves upon the shore,

Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown;
I sit the sands alone —
upon
The lightning of the noontide ocean

Is flashing round me, and a tone
Arises from its measured motion,

How sweet! did any heart now share in my

emotion.

III

Alas! I have nor hope nor health,

Nor peace within nor calm around,
Nor that content surpassing wealth
The sage in meditation found,

And walked with inward glory crowned-
Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure.
Others I see whom these surround

Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ; — To me that cup has been dealt in another mea

sure.

IV

Yet now despair itself is mild,

Even as the winds and waters are;

I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care
Which I have borne and yet must bear,

ii. 8 measured, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || mingled, Medwin, 1847. 9 did any heart now, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || if any heart could, Medwin, 1847.

iv. 4 the, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || this, Medwin, 1847.

Till death like sleep might steal on me,

And I might feel in the warm air

My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.

Some might lament that I were cold,
As I when this sweet day is gone,
Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
Insults with this untimely moan;
They might lament — for I am one
Whom men love not, and yet regret,
Unlike this day, which, when the sun
Shall on its stainless glory set,

Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory

yet.

SONNET

LIFT not the painted veil which those who live Call Life; though unreal shapes be pictured

there,

And it but mimic all we would believe

With colors idly spread, -behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies, who ever weave
Their shadows o'er the chasm sightless and
drear.

I knew one who had lifted it- he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,

iv. 9 dying, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || outworn, Medwin, 1847. Sonnet. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

6 Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || The shadows, which the world calls substance, there, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

7 had, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || omit, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendor among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.