And thy tears upon my head Underneath the grave 'tis spread: We may rest, and none forbid. X Clasp me, till our hearts be grown In the sleep that lasts alway. XI We may dream, in that long sleep, Thou mayst dream of her with me. XII Let us laugh, and make our mirth, 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; STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES I THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright; Like many a voice of one delight, xiii. 2 Show, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || Are, Medwin, 1832. 3 Puppets passing, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || Shadows shifting, 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. II I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple sea-weeds strown; Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown; The lightning of the noontide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. III Alas! I have nor hope nor health, And walked with inward glory crowned- 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. V Some might lament that I were cold, gone, As I when this sweet day is They might lament - for I am one Whom men love not, and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sun 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. |