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And raise thy sons, as o'er the prone horizon
Then clouds from sunbeams, antelopes from leopards,
And frowns and fears from Thee,
Would not more swiftly flee,
Than Celtic wolves from the Ausonian shepherds.
Whatever, Spirit, from thy starry shrine
THE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are
And the year
On the earth, her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,
Come, Months, come away,
Of the dead cold year,
Autumn. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,
The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling For the year;
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each
To his dwelling;
Come, Months, come away;
Let your light sisters play
Ye, follow the bier
And make her grave green with tear on tear.
DEATH is here, and death is there,
All around, within, beneath,
and we are death.
Death has set his mark and seal
First our pleasures die—and then
Death. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
These are dead, the debt is due,
All things that we love and cherish,
THE fiery mountains answer each other,
Their thunderings are echoed from zone to zone;
From a single cloud the lightning flashes,
But keener thy gaze than the lightning's glare, And swifter thy step than the earthquake's tramp; Thou deafenest the rage of the ocean; thy stare Makes blind the volcanoes; the sun's bright lamp To thine is a fen-fire damp.
Liberty. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
From billow and mountain and exhalation
SUMMER AND WINTER
It was a bright and cheerful afternoon
All things rejoiced beneath the sun; the weeds,
It was a winter such as when birds die
Summer and Winter. Published by Mrs. Shelley, in The Keepsake, 1829.
THE TOWER OF FAMINE
AMID the desolation of a city,
Weeps o'er the shipwrecks of oblivion's wave,
For bread, and gold, and blood; pain, linked to guilt,
There stands the pile, a tower amid the towers
Of solitary wealth; the tempest-proof
Are by its presence dimmed—they stand aloof,
And are withdrawn · so that the world is bare; As if a spectre, wrapped in shapeless terror, Amid a company of ladies fair
Should glide and glow, till it became a mirror
The Tower of Famine. Published by Mrs. Shelley, in The Keepsake, 1829.
11-14 Each ... temple . . . wealth, i' the... pavilion, Rossetti conj.
16 world || void, Rossetti conj.