They were two cousins, almost like to twins,
Except that from the catalogue of sins
Nature had rased their love--which could not be
But by dissevering their nativity.
Except that from the catalogue of sins
Nature had rased their love--which could not be
But by dissevering their nativity.
Shelley
.
melody 1870 only.
_66 1870 only.
_112 trees 1870; too 1862.
_113 huge 1870; long 1862.
_116 starlike 1870; starry 1862. odour 1862; odours 1870.
***
FIORDISPINA.
[Published in part (lines 11-30) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems",
1824; in full (from the Boscombe manuscript) by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of
Shelley", 1862. ]
The season was the childhood of sweet June,
Whose sunny hours from morning until noon
Went creeping through the day with silent feet,
Each with its load of pleasure; slow yet sweet;
Like the long years of blest Eternity _5
Never to be developed. Joy to thee,
Fiordispina and thy Cosimo,
For thou the wonders of the depth canst know
Of this unfathomable flood of hours,
Sparkling beneath the heaven which embowers-- _10
. . .
They were two cousins, almost like to twins,
Except that from the catalogue of sins
Nature had rased their love--which could not be
But by dissevering their nativity.
And so they grew together like two flowers _15
Upon one stem, which the same beams and showers
Lull or awaken in their purple prime,
Which the same hand will gather--the same clime
Shake with decay. This fair day smiles to see
All those who love--and who e'er loved like thee, _20
Fiordispina? Scarcely Cosimo,
Within whose bosom and whose brain now glow
The ardours of a vision which obscure
The very idol of its portraiture.
He faints, dissolved into a sea of love; _25
But thou art as a planet sphered above;
But thou art Love itself--ruling the motion
Of his subjected spirit: such emotion
Must end in sin and sorrow, if sweet May
Had not brought forth this morn--your wedding-day. _30
. . .
'Lie there; sleep awhile in your own dew,
Ye faint-eyed children of the . . . Hours,'
Fiordispina said, and threw the flowers
Which she had from the breathing--
. . .
A table near of polished porphyry. _35
They seemed to wear a beauty from the eye
That looked on them--a fragrance from the touch
Whose warmth .
_66 1870 only.
_112 trees 1870; too 1862.
_113 huge 1870; long 1862.
_116 starlike 1870; starry 1862. odour 1862; odours 1870.
***
FIORDISPINA.
[Published in part (lines 11-30) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems",
1824; in full (from the Boscombe manuscript) by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of
Shelley", 1862. ]
The season was the childhood of sweet June,
Whose sunny hours from morning until noon
Went creeping through the day with silent feet,
Each with its load of pleasure; slow yet sweet;
Like the long years of blest Eternity _5
Never to be developed. Joy to thee,
Fiordispina and thy Cosimo,
For thou the wonders of the depth canst know
Of this unfathomable flood of hours,
Sparkling beneath the heaven which embowers-- _10
. . .
They were two cousins, almost like to twins,
Except that from the catalogue of sins
Nature had rased their love--which could not be
But by dissevering their nativity.
And so they grew together like two flowers _15
Upon one stem, which the same beams and showers
Lull or awaken in their purple prime,
Which the same hand will gather--the same clime
Shake with decay. This fair day smiles to see
All those who love--and who e'er loved like thee, _20
Fiordispina? Scarcely Cosimo,
Within whose bosom and whose brain now glow
The ardours of a vision which obscure
The very idol of its portraiture.
He faints, dissolved into a sea of love; _25
But thou art as a planet sphered above;
But thou art Love itself--ruling the motion
Of his subjected spirit: such emotion
Must end in sin and sorrow, if sweet May
Had not brought forth this morn--your wedding-day. _30
. . .
'Lie there; sleep awhile in your own dew,
Ye faint-eyed children of the . . . Hours,'
Fiordispina said, and threw the flowers
Which she had from the breathing--
. . .
A table near of polished porphyry. _35
They seemed to wear a beauty from the eye
That looked on them--a fragrance from the touch
Whose warmth .
