And brood on thee, but may not blend

With thine.

II

Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not ;

But when I think that he
Who made and makes my lot
As full of flowers, as thine of weeds,

Might have been lost like thee;
And that a hand which was not mine

Might then have charmed his agony
As I another's — my heart bleeds
For thine.

III
“ Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of

The dead and the unborn
Forget thy life and love;
Forget that thou must wake forever;

Forget the world's dull scorn ;
Forget lost health, and the divine

Feelings which died in youth's brief morn; And forget me, for I can never Be thine.

IV
“ Like a cloud big with a May shower,

My soul weeps healing rain
On thee, thou withered flower;
It breathes mute music on thy sleep;

Its odor calms thy brain !
Its light within thy gloomy breast

Spreads like a second youth again.
ii. 7 charmed, Trelawny MS. || chased, Medwin, 1832.

By mine thy being is to its deep

Possessed.

V

“The spell is done. How feel you now?”

“Better — quite well,” replied The sleeper,-“ What would do You good when suffering and awake? 6. What cure your

head and side ? What would cure, that would kill me, Jane;

And as I must on earth abide Awhile, yet tempt me not to break

My chain.”

TO JANE:

THE INVITATION

Best and brightest, come away

!
Fairer far than this fair Day,
Which, like thee to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn Spring,
Through the winter wandering,
Found it seems the halcyon Morn,

To hoar February born. v. 6 Trelawny MS. 'Twould kill me what would cure my pain. Medwin, 1832, Mrs. Shelley, 18391,2.

To Jane. The Invitation: The Recollection. Rossetti || The Pine Forest of the Cascine near Pisa. Mrs. Shelley, 1824, 18391. The Invitation. The Recollection. Mrs. Shelley, 18392. Published by Mrs. Shelley in two versions, the first, 1824, reprinted in this edition under FRAGMENTS, the second, 18392.

Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,
It kissed the forehead of the Earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,
And bade the frozen streams be free,
And waked to music all their fountains,
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May
Strewed flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs ;
To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music, lest it should not find
An echo in another's mind,
While the touch of Nature's art
Harmonizes heart to heart.
I leave this notice on my door
For each accustomed visitor:
“I am gone into the fields
To take what this sweet hour yields.
Reflection, you may come to-morrow,
Sit by the fireside with Sorrow.
You with the unpaid bill, Despair,-
You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care, -
I will pay you in the grave, —
Death will listen to

stave.
Expectation too, be off!
To-day is for itself enough.
Hope, in pity mock not Woe

With smiles, nor follow where I go; Long having lived on thy sweet food, At length I find one moment's good After long pain — with all your love, This

you never told me of.”

Radiant Sister of the Day,
Awake! arise ! and come away T!
To the wild woods and the plains,
And the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green, and ivy dun,
Round stems that never kiss the sun ;
Where the lawns and pastures be
And the sand-hills of the sea;
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers and violets,
Which yet join not scent to hue,
Crown the pale year weak and new :
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one,
In the universal sun.

THE RECOLLECTION

I

Now the last day of many days,
All beautiful and bright as thou,

The loveliest and the last, is dead,
Rise, Memory, and write its praise !
Up, to thy wonted work! come, trace

The epitaph of glory fled, For now the Earth has changed its face,

A frown is on the Heaven's brow.

II

We wandered to the Pine Forest

That skirts the Ocean's foam, The lightest wind was in its nest,

The tempest in its home. The whispering waves were half asleep,

The clouds were gone to play,
And on the bosom of the deep

The smile of Heaven lay;
It seemed as if the hour were one

Sent from beyond the skies,
Which scattered from above the sun

A light of Paradise.

III

We paused amid the pines that stood

The giants of the waste,