Let us remain together still,

Then it will be good night.

II

How can I call the lone night good,
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
Be it not said, thought, understood,
Then it will be good night.

III

To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good; because, my love,
They never say good-night.

ii. 1 How were the night without thee good, Stacey MS.

iii. 1 The hearts that on each other beat, Stacey MS., The, Har

vard MS. cancelled.

iii. 3 Have nights as good as they are sweet, Stacey MS.

iii. 4 They But, Stacey MS.

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821

DIRGE FOR THE YEAR

ORPHAN hours, the year is dead,
Come and sigh, come and weep!
Merry hours, smile instead,

For the year is but asleep.
See, it smiles as it is sleeping,
Mocking your untimely weeping.

II

As an earthquake rocks a corse
In its coffin in the clay,

So White Winter, that rough nurse,
Rocks the death-cold year to-day;

Solemn hours! wail aloud

For your mother in her shroud.

III

As the wild air stirs and sways
The tree-swung cradle of a child,
So the breath of these rude days
Rocks the
year: be calm and mild,

Dirge for the Year. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824, and dated January 1, 1821.

ii. 4 death-cold, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || dead-cold, Mrs. Shelley,

Trembling hours; she will arise

With new love within her eyes.

IV

January gray is here,

Like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier,

March with grief doth howl and rave, And April weeps - but, O ye hours! Follow with May's fairest flowers.

TIME

UNFATHOMABLE Sea! whose waves are years, Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe Are brackish with the salt of human tears! Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow

Claspest the limits of mortality,

And sick of prey, yet howling on for more, Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore; Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm, Who shall put forth on thee, Unfathomable Sea?

Time. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

FROM THE ARABIC

AN IMITATION

I

My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;

It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.

Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight,
Bore thee far from me;

My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.

II

Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
Or the death they bear,

The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove

With the wings of care;

In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
Shall mine cling to thee,

Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,
It may bring to thee.

SONG

I

RARELY, rarely, comest thou,

Spirit of Delight!

From the Arabic. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
Song. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

Wherefore hast thou left me now

Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day 'Tis since thou art fled away.

II

How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false thou hast forgot

All but those who need thee not.

III

As a lizard with the shade

Of a trembling leaf,

Thou with sorrow art dismayed;
Even the sighs of grief

Reproach thee, that thou art not near,

And reproach thou wilt. not hear.

IV

Let me set my mournful ditty

To a merry measure;
Thou wilt never come for pity,

Thou wilt come for pleasure;

Pity then will cut away

Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.

V

I love all that thou lovest,

Spirit of Delight!

The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed,

And the starry night ;