I'll tell thee a part
Of the thoughts that start
To being when thou art nigh;
And thy beauty, more bright _10
Than the stars' soft light,
Shall seem as a weft from the sky.
Of the thoughts that start
To being when thou art nigh;
And thy beauty, more bright _10
Than the stars' soft light,
Shall seem as a weft from the sky.
Shelley
***
SONG FROM THE WANDERING JEW.
[Published as Shelley's by Medwin, "Life of Shelley", 1847, 1 page 58. ]
See yon opening flower
Spreads its fragrance to the blast;
It fades within an hour,
Its decay is pale--is fast.
Paler is yon maiden; _5
Faster is her heart's decay;
Deep with sorrow laden,
She sinks in death away.
***
FRAGMENT FROM THE WANDERING JEW.
[Published as Shelley's by Medwin, "Life of Shelley", 1847, 1 page 56. ]
The Elements respect their Maker's seal!
Still Like the scathed pine tree's height,
Braving the tempests of the night
Have I 'scaped the flickering flame.
Like the scathed pine, which a monument stands _5
Of faded grandeur, which the brands
Of the tempest-shaken air
Have riven on the desolate heath;
Yet it stands majestic even in death,
And rears its wild form there. _10,
***
TO THE QUEEN OF MY HEART.
[Published as Shelley's by Medwin, "The Shelley Papers", 1833, and by
Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition; afterwards suppressed
as of doubtful authenticity. ]
1.
Shall we roam, my love,
To the twilight grove,
When the moon is rising bright;
Oh, I'll whisper there,
In the cool night-air, _5
What I dare not in broad daylight!
2.
I'll tell thee a part
Of the thoughts that start
To being when thou art nigh;
And thy beauty, more bright _10
Than the stars' soft light,
Shall seem as a weft from the sky.
3.
When the pale moonbeam
On tower and stream
Sheds a flood of silver sheen, _15
How I love to gaze
As the cold ray strays
O'er thy face, my heart's throned queen!
4.
Wilt thou roam with me
To the restless sea, _20
And linger upon the steep,
And list to the flow
Of the waves below
How they toss and roar and leap?
5.
Those boiling waves, _25
And the storm that raves
At night o'er their foaming crest,
Resemble the strife
That, from earliest life,
The passions have waged in my breast. _30
6.
Oh, come then, and rove
To the sea or the grove,
When the moon is rising bright;
And I'll whisper there,
In the cool night-air, _35
What I dare not in broad daylight.
