And raise thy sons, as o'er the prone horizon Then clouds from sunbeams, antelopes from leopards, And frowns and fears from Thee, Than Celtic wolves from the Ausonian shep Whatever, Spirit, from thy starry shrine AUTUMN; A DIRGE THE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the year On the earth, her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. Come, Months, come away, In your saddest array; Follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. Autumn. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawl ing, The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling For the year; The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone To his dwelling; Come, Months, come away; Put on white, black, and gray; Of the dead cold year, And make her grave green with tear on tear. DEATH I DEATH is here, and death is there, Death is busy everywhere, All around, within, beneath, Above, is death-and we are death. II Death has set his mark and seal III First our pleasures die and then Our hopes, and then our fears-and when Death. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. These are dead, the debt is due, Dust claims dust- and we die too. IV All things that we love and cherish, Love itself would, did they not. LIBERTY I THE fiery mountains answer each other, II From a single cloud the lightning flashes, III 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. IV From billow and mountain and exhalation SUMMER AND WINTER Ir was a bright and cheerful afternoon All things rejoiced beneath the sun; the weeds, It was a winter such as when birds die Among their children comfortable men Summer and Winter. Published by Mrs. Shelley, in The Keepsake, 1829. THE TOWER OF FAMINE AMID the desolation of a city, Which was the cradle and is now the grave 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a tower amid the towers Of solitary wealth; the tempest-proof Are by its presence dimmed—they stand aloof, And are withdrawn so that the world is bare; As if a spectre, wrapped in shapeless terror, Amid a company of ladies fair Should glide and glow, till it became a mirror The Tower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, i̇ the... pavilion, Rossetti conj. 16 world || void, Rossetti conj. |